Idv - Blog Posts

(Hello everyone! This is my first official post here and i hope you like it)

Recently i got inspired by a friend and decided to create a Idv au, specifically one where the Perfumer is a serial killer :)

Tw: death and poison

The Vénéneuse Sisters Au

(Vénéneuse means toxic in French :))

1. Because im self indulgent, in this Au, both Chloe and Vera are alive and working together! While Chloe is the one behind the murders and creating the perfumes, Vera is the one to help with advertisement of the business!

2. Infact, Chloe’s first victim was their parents. After realizing how sick and twisted their favoritism was, the two come up with a plan to take them out- It was simple, spiking their food was much easier then expected. Vera had a solid alibi, simply because while she knew about the murder she made sure to be out the house at the time…and Chloe? No one cared about her, so they simply assumed she was in her shop… Eventually, the people thought it was simply a accident..

3. Infact, for the time the two spent in Grasse, that was their tactic. Everyone cared about Vera, and the two sisters learned to use that to their advantage. With everyone paying attention to her, no one ever stopped to ask where was her sister….

4. The way Chloe kills is simple- poison. And she is meticulous and careful about what she chooses-after all, why kill someone in a way you know you may get caught? Her go-to’s are arsenic, cyanide, thallium, polonium-210, ect- those poisons are hard to detect, even today, despite our medical progress (Im not sure when to set this au, either 1899 or 1950)

5. She chooses depending on many factors- one of them being how fast she wants them both- for example enough cyanide can kill a person quickly, but thallium is slow and yet hard to detect.

6. And she is careful- making sure to spike drinks or food unnoticed, the poor victims harldy notice…well. I wouldn’t call them poor. Chloe’s victims are mainly suitors who can’t accept no for a answer, or generally just creeps.

7. Now lets assume the two decide to move away, maybe to spread their business… now, Chloe shows her face and makes it clear that she is Vera’s twin…and yet, somehow that doesn’t stop her. She is still careful about it, but atleast now, people can credit her for it.

8. Vera is also perfect at providing alibies, and sometimes, she is the one to flirt with said victims, and get close to them enough to spike their drinks.

9. While Chloe is the one behind all the murders, she is aware of thr fact that her sister makes work so much easier- which makes her grow even fonder of her.

10. Its not frequent that someone grows suspicious of Chloe- when that happens, she is quick to take them out…that is, if Vera doesn’t do it first.

(im definitely adding more stuff to this because its actually fun, but i hope you like it!)

Perhaps known only to "Orpheus," this nightmare of his memory.

My digital art of "Nightmare" from IDV

spam posting all my art here in the off chance twitter really does go down - My idv oc <3

spreading my cat girl mary agenda 🐈

I love them so much I love them so much they are my husbands. They are MY HUSBANDS. They're both stinky, I love my stinky men, they're stinky and GAY

Charles smells like ||alcohol||, oil, soot, debris

Murro smells like the Wilderness, however tf a boar smells like and his body odor

I smell like rain. It's a match made in heaven this is amazing

Magnetic rocks?

Electromagnetic staff?

In the same room?

Cannot end well

Heyy,

I'm not dead yet.

[🎨 x 🍀]

lineart by me, awesome colouring by @beach-flamingo

ask me about my reasoning for choosing the characters I dare you

COMPOSER HEADCANON

Warning: Fluff, dependent relationship.

Frederick is quite a sensitive person.

Previously, he was only admired for his handsome face and not for his talent, which affected him in some way.

He wants someone who admires and loves him for who he is, who sees his musical talent and not just sees a handsome face.

He wants you to have a decent life with him.

He will compose music just for you as a token of his love

He will be attentive to you at all times, he wants you to worry about him as much as he does about you.

Before arriving at the mansion he lived in Paris

He'll love to show you Paris once all this game is over…

Most of the relationship would be physical and emotional, they will constantly be clasping their hands, hugging and telling the other that everything will be fine.

In case the two of you have separate games, he will be distressed and worried about you the whole game.

And if you were to be together, he would be able to risk the game in order to save you, he would not forgive himself if they eliminated you.

He wouldn't abandon his lover at all, even if you tell him to run away, what kind of a knight would he be if he didn't save his beloved?

Probably everything ends badly but if everything ends well, he will hug you tightly murmuring that he never wants to leave you.

Frederick really loves you a lot.

What would he do if he lost you?

Night Watch

Someone get luck gettin this cute boi?

Now i want to write a hdc of this pretty boiiiiii

i hope he gets his deduction soon 'cause i want to know more about his personality for write about him i dont want him so ooc

I got a hdc for Frederick (composer) idk when im gonna upload it

my my my I can't wait for him I must save for him (I am a terrible saver).

I like idv's recent trend of making pathetic-looking men. Enjoying this guy's vibes

Hunter Keigan x fem s/o who’s a big sofite, a bit of a klutz as well and blushes really easily.

❆CLERK HEADCANONS❆

I apologize for the delay! Sorry I can't give better material, if anyone wants to order please specify what you want. I will leave my master list so you can see my other materials.

This is the shortest thing I've done so far, I'm a bit busy and some keys don't work on my keyboard. srry </3

MENU and MASTERLIST.

Warning: Fluff, neutral gender,

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For Keigan this is cute and annoying at the same time.

She really likes it when you blush.

She will flatter you in any way possible to see your cheeks redden like a couple of strawberries.

Se likes to hold your cheeks when they're red, you're too cute.

The only thing she hates is that this effect can be applied by anyone who flatters you and she doesn't like that.

She would have no problem with you being a little clumsy, but please. Don't be near her when she's working.

You can be as clumsy as you want around her, except during her work hour.

She doesn't want you to trip and spill ink on her papers or worse, hurt yourself.

She will try to be attentive to you at any time so that you do not hurt yourself.

So please. Get away from the dish drawer before you-.

What did I tell you? God, you're a little troublemaker, what will she do with you?

Call of abyss

Warning: religion, violence implicite, murder, platonic relationship, limb amputation, main character death, post-manor.

Since you were little you were always told that there was only one God, that there was no one else but him and that all the other gods that people praised were pagan gods, beings that did not really exist and that they were blasphemy and those who believed in other gods were sinners . It sounded so stupid, people who believed in the existence of other gods.

Wouldn't they think the same of the beliefs of others?

You know why they told you about that, they didn't want you to believe in another god, specifically the supposed goddess who lived in the same town, Grace, the adopted daughter of a family.

From the moment that Grace had arrived in town, the drought had ended, at that time you were not yet born.

You had watched as a group of children chased after a girl, Grace, maybe a year or two older than you. You watched from the legania, as they were sneaking out, with morbid curiosity of how all this would end, you decided to follow them.

You hid behind some trees, analyzing the situation, it seemed that Grace had gotten into a lake, the children who were chasing her were on the shore, telling her things that you were not able to hear from a distance.

You waited a long time, until they left, leaving little Grace alone. You watched a little longer, waiting for her to come out of the water but she just didn't.

"If you don't get out of there, you'll shrivel up like a dried fruit."

Grace turned towards the shrill voice, looked at another child, somewhat younger than her.

She just watched, didn't say anything, just watched the child carefully.

"Can't you talk?" Asked.

She did not answer.

You analyzed what you got to see of his appearance, his wavy hair with a strange color, but not only that was what caught your attention, but also the gills on his neck.

Grace noticed that you were looking at her gills, she quickly hid in the water up to below her nose.

"If you think I came to bother you like them, no, I was just curious to see you."

Her eyes widened, somewhat surprised.

"I heard from my parents that most of the town believes that you are a deity or something. They want me to stay away from you." You looked down at your tiny feet. "It's kind of silly, isn't it?"

You didn't know when, but Grace had come to the edge of the lake, curious as to what you had to say.

You looked her straight in the eye, making her a little nervous.

"Want to be friends?" You extended your hand to her, expecting her to take it.

Grace looked doubtfully at your outstretched hand, it was like that for a long time. Maybe she didn't want friends and she preferred her solitude, you were about to lower her hand when she took it.

You looked at her with a big smile.

Since then, you and Grace would see each other secretly from your parents, you knew what would happen if they discovered you.

At first Grace kept a distance between you and her, she still didn't fully trust you, it was understandable.

You were trying to gain Grace's trust through gifts, things you found around that were interesting to you and so you thought that maybe Grace would be interested in it.

Perhaps a flower, a dead insect or an object that people threw away because it no longer served them.

To Grace, you were someone… weird, and she liked that.

"What do you think Grace of this?" You showed him a butterfly, perched on your ring finger, with slightly torn wings.

Little by little, your relationship with Grace was improving, she already had enough trust in you.

And with that, the years passed, Grace was already bigger and her beauty stood out.

There were still people who saw Grace as a miracle child. And your parents still believed that she was blasphemous.

Everything had gone normally during those years, until that day came…

Unfortunately, all good things had to come to an end.

It started when the drought started once again, I was seeing shortages in fishing again and people only saw one person to blame, Grace.

Everyone turned against her, the people who believed that there was only one God, including your parents, excused that the drought had returned since they had made the true God angry and he had punished them for such an offense and that the only way that this will forgive them was to give him a sacrifice, to the false goddess, Grace.

You put yourself in front of the scared Grace, she had been caught in a fishing net and she couldn't escape they were completely surrounded. It only remained to try to make people see reason, but they did not want to listen.

They called you an accomplice of the false goddess, they decided that God needed not only one sacrifice… but two, the false goddess and her blasphemous companion.

Your parents did not object, they saw with absolute shame how their own descendant had decided to choose to follow the fraud and that you deserved the same punishment as her.

People did not hesitate, they threw you to the ground, they took out a butcher knife with a worn and rusty edge.

"No! No! No! ” you shook desperately, trying to free your limbs, they held tighter. You watched in fear as tears fell along with the cold sweat on your body as the weapon was raised.

"We will start with the blasphemous companion, so that the phony can see what awaits her."

“Grace! ”

The butcher knife hurtled down toward your feet, slamming into the bone, shredding the meat in the process.

A cry of pain escaped your mouth, you jerked faster, just like a fish out of water, trying to jump away.

From the small space that allowed you to see the bodies that supported you, you saw Grace. She cried, seeing how you suffered, without being able to do anything.

"Grace-" Another blow from the knife to your feet made you yell louder. Losing eye contact with Grace.

It went on like this over and over again, until finally your feets were ripped off your legs, following these, they shredded them until they were completely useless.

At some point you stopped feeling pain, you could hardly hear anything and your vision was blurred by tears.

Your suffering was not enough for people, they took your face in their hands forcing you to see how they did the same to Grace.

Everything was so unlucky, why? God, if you exist… Why do you allow this to happen? What fault do we have? Do we not matter to you? You are so cruel…

At some point, they had tied you and Grace to an anchor, you couldn't think what they would do anymore. Why an anchor? What will they do?

The strong impact of the water hitting your body and Grace's awakened your senses one last time, the cold water sent chills throughout your body, your amputated legs left a trail of blood in the water, the contact of your wounds with the water it burned It was extremely irritating, you just wanted it all to be over at once.

You felt the water in your lungs, slowly losing consciousness and the last thing on your mind was Grace, you couldn't see her, only her hair moving in the water.

Your hand trailed towards Grace's hand, trying to intertwine your fingers with hers.

Slowly everything turned black, it was cold, too cold, that annoying beep intensified and you didn't feel anything. Unfortunately you didn't feel how Grace's fingers joined between yours and little by little they began to change…

It was fun while it lasted.

Qi Shiyi’s skill showcase be like “is anyone else going to punt this child into the wall”

How about a Keigan Nicholas Keogh x fem s/o who’s super shy and affectionate (can be 18+ if you want)

❆Clerk Headcanons❆

Well, writing to Clerk will be difficult because we don't get a lot of information about her, but I can write with the little information we did have, so I'll do my best.

This is going to be more of a hc so sorry if you wanted a one-shot.

Warning: Conspiracy, obsession, f/f, shy!affecionate! reader, twisted justice.

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So how could this be?

Someone like her dating someone like you?

You're too shy to even think about talking to her.

Perhaps what attracted Keigan's attention was your dream for a just world, where people get the justice they deserve and those who do wrong get their punishment.

At the beginning of the relationship, your shyness was completely replaced by your affectionate way of relating to her.

Keigan doesn't care if you're too shy or too affectionate, she loves you for who you are.

You had to keep the relationship a secret, you knew the world couldn't stand to see them together, for people the fact that they were together was so frowned upon.

What both felt was true and pure love, neither your parents or other relatives would have to interfere in your relationship.

Keigan always had that desire to help people get the justice they wanted, his father fulfilled his dream… Through his brother. He wasn't fit to show justice, so she did what she had to do.He wasn't fit to show justice, so she did what she had to do.

Years passed and Keigan's dream came true, justice could be exercised as it should be. You were with her all that time, you were an accomplice in what she did to her brother.

You decided to shut up because you love her more than anything in the world and anything that made her happy also made you happy.

No one ever suspected anything of you and Keigan, no one would suspect Keigan's too shy friend and neither of her herself.

She only needs you and no one else, your shyness and affection completed her more than her justice. She would never let anything happen to you, eventually both of you would be together as it should be.

And it's only over until the fat lady sings.

Woah this was a bit off the original theme srry if this isn't what you wanted.i do my best at this when more is revealed about clerk i will do a rework of this headcanon.

I hate anatomy I hate full body I hate drawing legs I hate Idv I am putting myself through hell

The feeling where Norton’s hunter counterpart easily carries you with one rock hand? But he puts down his pickaxe and use both his hands, letting him see and feel exactly how small you are compared to him in his hunter form. It makes him feel excited that he’s amused when you try to struggle out of his hold. Only to be stuck in his grasp for the rest of the match.

But with your hunter counterpart, you gain a bit of height that you have to look down at his survivor form even though his height reaches up to your chest area. And despite not knowing the reason why his counterpart carries your small survivor form, you decided to do it towards his survivor counterpart. Which he’s embarrassed to be seen by his teammates being carried by his treasure’s hunter form. he can totally see his teammates teasing him about this moment after they all escape.

Matthias, what was your first reaction to Louis? Did you immediately dislike him?

I think I just didn't figure out my feelings about him until after I realized the French language barely suited my mouth; I studied daily and nightly under various tutelage - including my Father's, but it was always.. inadequate.

Everyone was happy... Except for me. I.. struggled to make friends even when I'd lived in Prague, and what few friends I had made - I suddenly had to say goodbye to.

... Sometimes I find myself wondering if I would have been more fond of him if we'd never moved to Paris. If I could have been just as happy as this imposter.

Or if this really was the walking, talking nightmare by my parent's design - a reminder of my imperfections, or simply wishful thinking on their part.

I think it was the day I found a poster of him that I finally realized how I felt.

How I genuinely felt.

The Red Means I Love You (Edgar×Reader)

AN: This was supposed to be finished and posted on Valentine's Day. However, as you can see from the word count, that was a fool's errand. I wanted to delve more into yanderes since I find them fascinating in writing, and now, here we are. Staining White Day red, I present to you the most generic title for an Edgar fic you will ever see. (Btw, I apologize to Edgar fans- I might've massacred your boy but I swear I tried my best.) Word count: 4.9k words TW: Blood, violence, murder, yandere themes, and blackmailing. Summary: Accepting the invitation of a dubious letter sounds just about as bad as it actually was. Oletus manor is not a name spoken without notoriety, after all. Was that where it all began? Was this your first mistake? No, it was further down the line, wasn't it? Yes, perhaps it was when you became the muse of an artist with no inspiration.

Reality has disappointed you time and time again. The expectations of a life of peace was crushed easily under the hands of society. So, you fled. You fled inside your head, transporting yourself into worlds of fiction. Romance, mystery, fantasy, and the likes kept you alive. It was the only thing you could really call safe.

Among many genres, you favored one above the others. 

Horror.

There’s a certain comfort that comes from these fictional tales. You know they aren’t real, that the killer can’t find you, that these psychopaths don’t exist. Are there people similar to them? Sure, but they aren’t in your life. Thus, they merely stay as silly little people within a book.

But, it’s not quite enough. The thrill of words upon a page cannot compete with the real deal. While you weren’t stupid enough to seek out murderers or the like, you were still dumb enough for Baron DeRoss, apparently.

The envelope is white as a dove, a blood red stamp sealing it shut. It whispers promises and praise, false hope and rewards. It’s an enticing offer, truly. Would you let it guide you astray?

Well, you were never one to turn away from the call of the abyss.

-

“I really don’t get it. I know it’s game changing, but it’s not helpful for anyone else but me! Why do they want me to team up with them?” You huffed, resting your face on your palms. Edgar merely rolled his eyes, flicking his wrist. Focused on the canvas in front of him, he let the brush streak red through white.

“You said it yourself, your abilities are game changing. We don’t even know the full extent of your abilities– who knows? Maybe you could completely uproot the current meta. Besides,” He smirked, peering at you from the corner of his eye. “The hunters are terrified of you.”

You paused, letting your arms fall flat against the table.

“Scared? Of me? I’m just another survivor– what do they have to be afraid of?”

Edgar hummed, tapping the handle end of his paint brush against his lips. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t quite fancy being stabbed.”

Okay, yeah, that was fair.

Most survivors didn’t possess the ability to fight the hunter, not really, yet here you were. When Jack had first chased you, he had the reckoning of his life. You wince at the phantom feeling of stabbing steel into flesh and bone. That was, admittedly, not what you had expected to be your special skill.

You pouted, cheek against the cool wood of Edgar’s table as you glanced around. His room was an odd combination of an art exhibition hall and an actual bedroom. It was big and extravagant, but you wouldn’t expect any less from him. 

Well, kind of.

Edgar confused you. Intriguing, even among the sea of other unique characters within the manor. You suppose that’s why he’s your favorite comrade and closest friend, if you could call him that. He’s never kicked you out of his room or flat out yelled at you, so safe to say he didn’t hate you, at least. 

He’s neutral on all matters within the manor, composed regardless of what he faced. All he cared about was his art, nothing more and nothing less. Perhaps that was how he was unaffected by everything.

You suppose that’s natural for an artist. You can’t claim to understand it perfectly, but in a way, you truly understood.

“It’s like… you’re a moth drawn to a flame, right? Art is something you’re willing to give your life to, dedicate your whole body and soul to. Even if you have to sacrifice your time, energy, or health, for the perfect outcome, you’d do it.” You had said it off handedly, not thinking much of it then. In some respects, wasn’t his passion for art just like your obsession with thrill?

But then he had grabbed your hands, looking into your eyes with such fervor. His gaze burned, a certain desperation flickering within it. What was he seeking so fiercely? What was making Edgar, apathetic, snide Edgar, act like he had found an oasis in the desert?

“You get it?” He whispered, almost pleading. 

“Maybe,” You responded.

That had been enough for him. 

Since then, you and Edgar had become an odd pair. Not quite friends, but too close to be acquaintances. You gravitated towards him, as he did to you. More often than not, you’d ask him if he’d like to team up for matches. More often than not, he’d say yes.

You suppose that’s another reason why other survivors regard you with care.

Edgar isn’t the most difficult person to work with, but definitely not the easiest. He’s all too much and too little: haughty and snide, distant and cold. He’s a reliable teammate, not a likable one. 

Still, the playful sparkle in his eyes as he led the hunter straight to you made you beg to differ. You’d curse him out as you ran, glaring at him after the match was over, before begrudgingly thanking him for supporting you with a painting or two.

However odd it was, you wouldn’t trade your friendship for the world.

-

There’s a letter in your mailbox. 

That isn’t especially weird, considering that’s what a mailbox is for. Letters, mail, packages, whatever. Still, you can’t help but pause as you stare at it. A white envelope with a lovely red seal, the stamp itself in the shape of a camellia. The embossed flower is outlined in gold, shimmering softly in the low light of your room.

Gently, you pry open the seal, careful not to damage it or the envelope. Once you’ve successfully extracted the letter without destroying everything, you stare at it with uncertainty. 

It seemed like this was a love letter from the presentation alone, yet you couldn’t help but feel a bit unsettled. You couldn’t understand why, however. It was beautiful, but simple. It wasn’t overwhelming, nor alarming. So why, from the depths of your heart, was your subconscious screaming at you to run? As though you were about to open Pandora’s box?

You unfold the letter and read.

-

Edgar gives you the nastiest side eye you’ve ever seen. Perhaps you deserve it after the stunt you pulled. Then again, what else were you supposed to do? He was going to be sent back to the manor if you hadn’t let yourself go down.

In the end, thanks to your sacrifice, the potential tie had turned into a win. Sure, you were the one sent back to the manor instead, but a win was a win! Though, Edgar seemed to disagree.

“You’re an idiot.”

You would be offended if it weren’t for the fact that he was wrapping your wounds. The tender touches were barely there, like the flutter of a butterfly's wings. He was being careful, making sure you didn’t feel even an ounce of unnecessary pain. The concentration he was putting into taking care of you was something you had only seen when Edgar was painting. 

The subtle quirk of his lips, eyes barely narrowed, and relaxed shoulders expressed more to you than any words ever could. The guilt that pooled into his chest, made evident by the quiet sighs he’d let out, seemed to manifest itself as kindness and gentle care.

It made you really want to tease him.

“Ow!” You hiss, flinching slightly away from the man. Edgar freezes, staring at you with concern.

“Shit– sorry, I didn’t mean to.” The sincere remorse in his voice immediately makes you regret your decision.

“Wait, wait, wait, no, I– gah, sorry. I was just messing with you.”

The painter’s formerly soft expression faded into a scowl, a glare sent your way even as he finished wrapping you up. Edgar immediately stands up, leaving you scrambling to do the same as he leaves the infirmary.

“Ahhhh, wait, I’m sorry! Wait, Edgar, I’m sorry, I swear I won’t do that again! C’mon, don’t leave me like this! I–” You trip on something, stumbling as you lose balance. You fully expect to kiss the ground, what with one of your arms in a cast, when lithe arms catch you.

You glance up at Edgar with a sheepish smile, gazing upon the apathetic look upon his face. Apathetic, to anyone else but you. You can see the little curl of his lips, the faint swirl of amusement in his eyes.

He helps you reorient yourself, hands on your shoulders. Once you’re safely standing, Edgar turns and continues down the hallway. His steps are slower than usual. It’s probably the closest you’ll get to an invitation.

You grin, chasing after him once more.

“So does this mean you forgive me?”

“No.”

-

“How do you manage to stay sane, painting the same thing over and over again?” You ask, half dangling off a couch. Edgar’s room is still as grand as ever, but you can see the changes. It seems more lived in, more homey. There’s a table that isn’t covered in paint, brushes, or other art supplies. There’s shelves with books instead of art supplies. Then, those cabinets have, wait for it, something other than art supplies.

It seems like a small shift to others, though that’s probably because they don’t visit Edgar half as often as you do. The first time you saw the couch, you thought you were hallucinating. 

The Edgar Valden, using something other than a stool? Incredible, revolutionary, absolutely groundbreaking.

He did not appreciate your dramatics, or so he claimed, but you knew he was covering his mouth to hide his smile.

“I’m not painting the same thing, and I am, in fact, going insane.” Edgar responds, frown deepening as he mixes a few colors together. You hum, peeking at the canvas as much as you can from your position. From the sketch, you could tell it was a portrait. A rare occurrence, considering Edgar preferred landscapes.

“Why the sudden interest in portraits?” You ask, sitting more comfortably on the couch. Glancing at the shelves, you skim through the books. Edgar wouldn’t mind if you read one of them, right?

The man pauses, his expression almost bashful. It’s so bizarre you can’t help but raise a brow. Edgar has never been afraid to draw attention to himself. He’s no pushover, willing to fight for what he wants while still remaining relatively neutral. To see him like that, a dust of what can only be blush upon his cheeks, twists something in your heart.

Before you can untangle what exactly you were feeling, the painter coughs.

“Well, I tried talking with Victor about expressing oneself. He suggested letters, or other mediums I’m comfortable with. So…” Edgar stares at his canvas, his smile more so a grimace. “I’m trying out his suggestion, I suppose.”

You tilt your head, humming to yourself as you nod. Sliding off the couch, you grab one of the books on Edgar’s shelf. “Well, then I wish you the best of luck.”

His eyes linger on you, closing softly as his expression relaxes. When he opens them again, he starts creating new hues with more focus.

-

“I’ve been getting letters recently.” You mention, flipping another page in your book. Edgar paused, turning to look at you.

“And?”

You closed your eyes, contemplating. This really wasn’t something you had to tell him. But, well, nothing too interesting has been happening lately. The matches have finally grown duller, the thrill fading as you stayed longer. You were running out of things to ramble about, so why not?

“They’re love letters. Nicely decorated, with neat handwriting. If I had to guess, someone born into privilege.” You think Edgar flinches at that.

“It’s really sweet, honestly. A shame they’re anonymous.” You skim over the words on the page, brows knitting themselves tight. The main character was oblivious to the danger so close to them. How frustrating. 

“A shame, really.” Edgar echoes back, delicately brushing shadows along the red camellias. His painting seemed nearly finished, if you only stared at the beautiful flowers. The rest of the canvas was rather barren, a figure still not yet painted whole.

“C’mon, theorize with me! Who could it be? I put my bets on Jack.” You sighed dramatically, head thrown back with your hand on your forehead. 

You received no response, however.

“Hear me out! He called me darling, dear, and tried to kill me. Obviously, he fell for my sick kiting skills and great looks. I rest my case.” Still, nothing.

You were getting really worried with how unresponsive Edgar was being. Usually, when you started overexaggerating like that, he’d make a snarky remark. Something like “please, you get terror shocked at 5 ciphers” or “you make amphibians look appealing.” 

The silence was really getting to you.

“I mean, he’s got confidence in spades so it probably isn’t him. Still, I kinda hope it is, he’s rather attrac–” SNAP!

Your head snaps up from your book, turning to Edgar so quickly you nearly give yourself whiplash. There, in his hands, are the remains of a broken paint brush. Blood oozes from his tightly clenched hands, slowly trickling down his palm and under the cuff of his shirt. That was reason for concern as is, but the most startling thing of all was his eyes.

Blue, like the sky. Blue, like the sea. Blue, like the wings of a morpho butterfly.

Blue, like the swirling vortex of the night sky.

You rush over, grabbing the first aid kit you know he keeps for you, before standing next to him. You’ve never seen him like this, eyes so dark and blank. It’s honestly scaring you a little, but that means nothing when he’s hurt.

So, you kneel, pulling out tweezers, disinfectants, and bandages. Gently prying his hand open, you discard the larger pieces of the brush. With the tweezers, you pick out splinters of wood embedded in his skin. You whisper apologies as you do, knowing this definitely hurts, but he doesn’t so much as flinch.

By the time you finally disinfect his hand and wrap it, Edgar seems a lot more like himself than before. He gazes at you with quiet consideration, blinking slowly. Languid, calm, almost cat-like.

“Are you okay?” You ask, holding his hand. In all the time you’ve known him, you’ve never seen him react like that. The kinder side of you hopes it’ll never happen again, if only so he won’t needlessly hurt himself like that. The morbid side of you wants to see him like that again, what you can distinguish as cold, searing rage threatening to consume him whole.

Edgar leans his head forward and onto your shoulder. The scent of citrus, chamomile, and something chemical tickles your nose, brushing against you as the painter sighs. He seems… tired.

“Let me rest my head, just for a bit.”

You don’t have the heart to say no.

-

The next few letters you get are… odd. Passionate as always, but far more obsessive. The first few had been sweeter, more tender. This was escalating in a weird direction, and as much as you loved yourself a good horror story, romance and horror never mix well. They were starting to threaten you, saying they’d hurt the people around you, and that was where you drew the line.

So, you start ignoring them. It sounds foolish, especially for a connoisseur of all things freaky, but life is more mundane than fiction. If this person doesn’t have the guts to confess to you, does it make sense that they’d have the guts to actually go through with their threats? Logically, no. 

Besides, even if they did, the people of the manor are strong. They can hold their own. Even if they can't, that person will get outcasted for hurting a survivor, regardless of if they’re a hunter. “No violence outside of matches,” that was the first rule both factions set.

So, it was safe to assume you had nothing to worry about. You have more important things to deal with, anyway, especially with a new survivor arriving. His name was Orpheus, a novelist. You were thrilled, especially since he was the author of some of your favorite series.

You were busy with preparations, practically skipping with joy. The other survivors poked fun at you, both for your enthusiasm and the lack of a certain painter at your side.

Edgar was concentrating on his art, as per usual, and you didn’t want to bother him. He seemed a little lonely, though, so you tried to convince a few people to talk to him. They all just looked at you as if you grew another head. 

“Are we… looking at the same person?” Mike asks, smile strained. You frown, turning away from the banners you were fixing. 

“Yes! Edgar Valden, our resident painter, our sassy rich boy, our lovely old friend. I say he is lonely, and I think you should talk to him. I mean, you’re easy-going, fun, and silly. Who wouldn’t like you?” Even if half of it was an act. Still, Mike was one of the people Edgar tolerated better than most. Perhaps it’s because he’s another form of an artist?

“Why can’t you just, I don’t know, talk to him yourself? You guys get along just fine.” Mike looks away, fiddling with his hands. You narrow your eyes at the sight.

Mike Morton, local funny man, someone with dedication and deceit running through his veins, nervous? It’s not faked, the sweat rolling down his neck and the faster breathing all indicating he was genuinely nervous. Maybe even scared.

“Edgar, I really do love him, but he needs more friends. I think the only people who talk to him on a regular basis are Luca and I. Adding a few more people to that list would be nice, so…” You bring your hands in front of you, clasped tight as if you’re about to pray. “Could you please talk to him?”

Mike deflates, sighing as he nods. You smile brightly in response, promising to make it up to him.

-

“Hey bestie! You excited for the new survivor?” Demi croons, grinning as she tosses an arm around your shoulder. You laugh in response, leaning into her.

“That’s about the dumbest thing you could ask me. Of course I am! He’s written so many good books. God, I don’t know how I’m supposed to act around him. He’s made some stories that have basically shaped who I am now!” You sigh, smiling so widely your face hurts.

“Well, don’t forget your boyfriend in all the excitement! I can see he’s basically seething with envy.” 

You pause, turning to look at Demi.

“Who?”

Now, it’s Demi’s turn to look confused.

“Uh, you know, Edgar? Are– are you guys not together?” She asks, genuinely shocked. You feel your face heat up, your hands itching to cover your blush. 

“Wh– no! We are not! Why would anyone ever think that?”

Demi gives you a deadpan expression in response.

“You two are basically glued to each other’s side, go into every match together, hang out almost every day– Hell, you’re the only one Edgar has allowed in his room without it being necessary!” 

Well, that’s news to you.

You furrow your brows, blinking in shock. Sure, you two hung out a lot, but it wasn’t like you guys were friends exclusively with each other. You had Demi, Mike, Melly, and even Violetta while Edgar had Luca, Victor, Andrew, and Galatea. It wasn’t like you… hung out… every… day…

“Oh fuck, we really do look like a couple.” You mutter, having half a mind to smack Demi as she laughs. She’s completely unapologetic about it, struggling to breathe as slowly calms down and giggles.

“So, you two aren’t dating?” She asks, wiggling her eyebrows. You huff, fighting back a smile.

“Nope, not at all.”

“Then in that case, I’m allowed to flirt with you as much as I want!” Demi cheers. She spins you around, causing a laugh to bubble up from your throat. The two of your twirl around in a silly dance, the faint sound of Frederick playing the piano the only background music.

At the end, she dips you down, smile upon her lips. She leans close to your ear as your smile is wiped away.

“Be wary of him.”

-

With Edgar, it’s like you’re taking three steps forward, then five steps back. Just when you think you’ve got him all figured out, he throws a curveball at you.

That desperation he had in his eyes the day you became his friend, flickering like a brilliant flame, you understand it now. However much he claimed he didn’t need people to understand him, how he didn’t need to understand others, it didn’t mean much. He still craved it, to be understood. To not have to be questioned, to not be approached with dishonesty, with intentions that lied beyond just him being him.

You suppose that’s exactly why you got along. You wanted to understand him, and he wanted to be understood. A match made in Heaven, you suppose.

It’s why it miffed you a bit that you really can’t understand Edgar at the moment.

He hates drawing portraits, yet he draws a figure, the same exact one, in every one of his new pieces. They look familiar, a lot like you, but you’re pretty confident Edgar would rather die than paint you. You’d tease him to Hell and back, all while he complains and swears up and down he’s never being nice to you again.

The landscapes, adorned in reds of all shades, always have that figure in each one without fail. Is he in love with someone? That would explain why he’s so weird lately.

Edgar’s odd behavior was already messing with you, but on top of that, the letters were getting worse. Instead of being slid into your mailbox, they were flat out in your room now.

Normal people would think someone just slipped it under the door. Reasonable assumption. However, unless that person has not only a very thin arm, but a long one, you don’t know how they’d manage to get it all the way to your desk.

You stare at the white envelope, stamped shut with a red seal in the shape of a camellia. The outline of the flower is in gold, though the beauty of the letter and the seal means nothing. Not when it got into your room. Not when it clearly has a splotch of dark red glaring at you.

Your hands are shaky as you open the envelope, a familiar curl of thrill fighting with your new found protective instincts. The letter is white as a dove, the red tainting it made all the more stark.

With adrenaline coursing through your veins, you read.

‘I didn’t imagine love would be like this. Wonderfully warm, like the rays of the sun in winter, and unbearably painful, like a knife in my heart. Do you just like hurting me? No, I know that isn’t true. After all, you always look at me with concern when I’m injured. Still, it’s hard to believe you’re this dense.

These past few weeks have been driving me mad. Your attention has been solely on the arrival of the new survivor. You’ve been ignoring me so much I can barely stand it. Can’t you spare even a moment for me? Is that novelist really that important? Seeing you look at him with stars in your eyes… it makes me want to rip his head off his shoulders. He doesn’t deserve your attention, nor your admiration, not like I do. I’ve known you longer, loved you for longer. He doesn’t deserve anything from you, yet he gets everything I could ever want and more.

Did you know? When you’re excited, your smile turns bigger, more genuine, till dimples show. Your eyes crinkle just a little, your hands moving to curl in front of your chest. You stand taller, you shine brighter.

It’s such a beautiful sight, I hate that I have to share it. Sometimes, I wish I could just put you in a cage and never let you go. Then, you wouldn’t look at anyone else but me. You wouldn’t think about anyone else but me. But, that’s not how you should live. You deserve to be free and happy. So, I’ve decided to get rid of anyone that doesn’t deserve to be around you.

I think I’ll start with that novelist.’

Your blood runs cold.

Fuck.

FUCK.

Just who is this? Who are they and just why are they so obsessed with you? Get rid of those who don’t deserve you? Who gave them the right to decide that!?

You take a deep breath, desperately trying to calm your nerves. Your heart is racing, and for the first time, the thrill in your heart turns into true fear.

You’ve never minded being the one hunted. In fact, you practically adore it, the addicting rush of adrenaline pumping through you. It’s why you came to the manor. But your friends? They’re not the same, and you wouldn’t want them to be. You want them safe and happy, not hunted down by some freak who thinks they “aren’t worthy of you” for whatever sick reason.

“Fuck, fuck… Orpheus, I need to find– no, it’s probably too late for him, there’s blood on the letter. Okay, okay, stay calm, stay fucking calm. Who would be the next victim? Mike? Melly? No, it’s probably Ed–” You pause.

Almost comically, everything clicks in place.

Camellias.

Red.

Ignoring them.

Edgar.

You bolt out of your room.

-

Normally, you’d knock. You know Edgar hates it when people barge into his room. However, considering the circumstances, you think that’s the least of your concerns.

You can’t help but pray in your mind. To whom? You don’t know. You don’t think anyone can truly help in this situation. It couldn’t be anyone else but Edgar, but still, you prayed. You hoped against all hope that your conclusion was wrong. 

Edgar would scold you for barging in, sigh, before smiling and asking if you were really that desperate to see him. Everything would be fine. It would all be just a cruel joke.

But just as life is more mundane than fantasy, reality is far cruller than fiction.

The large windows to Edgar’s room let in the light of the falling sun, casting the room in many shades of gold and orange. In the middle of the room, in all his glory, is Edgar. His back is to you, paint brush in hand. You’re hit first by relief, then with the heavy scent of iron.

You shake, hands covering your mouth as you finally process what's around Edgar. Orpheus, drained of blood, head sat on a chair, body left haphazardly on the ground. Jack, ghastly white and face twisted, his horror eternally memorialized in death. Demi, eyes closed and serene, seemingly asleep if not for the purple veins that roam along her arms.

You fall to your knees, the shock hitting you so strong you can’t stand up any longer. He was your secret admirer. The one who kept sending letters. The one who went into your room just to place them on your desk. The one who threatened to kill your friends. The one who did kill your friends.

Edgar, finally, turns around. His cheek has splotches of blood on it, his hands no better. It’s startling just how much of it is on him, but worse yet, you know not all of it is on him. There’s a lot of blood in a human body, much more in two, so where was it?

When he smiles, it’s just as sweet as it was yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that. Was this really your friend, or a demon in disguise?

His smile, ever so sweet, only serves to unsettles you, looking more like a nightmare.

“Ah, you’re here! Come, I need to show you my newest masterpiece.” Edgar steps closer to you, dragging you by the hand to a canvas you hadn’t noticed before. He was standing in front of it, so it was only natural.

You numbly follow, heart in your throat. You’re grateful, distantly, that the “masterpiece” is not the corpses of your friends. You think you’re going to throw up, eyes trying to look at anything but them.

So, you gladly look at his so-called masterpiece.

You really wish you didn’t.

There, on the canvas, is a portrait. This time, it’s so painfully obvious it’s you that you can’t even deny it. Surrounded by red camellias, hands curled in front of their chest, with a smile so genuine, dimples showed. Eyes crinkled, back straight, and God, did it have to be so accurate?

The red of the camellias are familiar, as is the red of your blush, the colors of your clothes, your hair. 

It’s all been painted using your friend’s blood.

Edgar comes behind you, his arms circling your waist. A content sigh leaves him, his chin resting on your shoulder. His hold is gentle, but firm, possessive in a way you never thought him capable of. His lips brush against your neck, a kiss much like a collar pressed into your skin. You can feel them curl into a smile.

“What do you think, my muse? The red means I love you.”

Do NOT Let Him Cook (Morningstar!Ithaqua×Reader)

AN: Happy White Day! I'm probably not posting more than this and the other fic I was supposed to post Valentine's Day (which, as you can see, I failed in doing) for March. I will, however, be posting a little more in April cause that is my birthday month! Expect a few indulgent fics. This fic is honestly just crack, so if you need something silly and sweet, here we are! Genuinely, do not let this man cook. Word count: 2.2k words Summary: It's White Day, a day of reciprocated love. Of course, Helel has to give you something in return for your wonderful Valentine's gift. Now, if only he could figure out how he turned a tart into a fruity croissant...

There were very few things Helel feared. The first, of course, was you. He held your heart in his hands as you did too, yes, but no one could get him to obey them quite like you could. It was loyalty, it was devotion, one reciprocated through blood and love. To possess such power over him is somewhat of a marvel, something to fear, even just a little.

The second was your death, the thought of you leaving his side forever. He'd tear apart the world, commit sacrilege in the holiest places, and declare war upon the gods before he'd let someone take you from him. Still, he cannot control plagues, time, or the hostility within the hearts of humans. Life is delicate, even Helel cannot deny that.

The third thing he feared, Helel learned, was baking.

It seems simple enough, really. Chuck a few ingredients in, mix it, then toss it in an oven. Easy, right? Looking around him now, with smoke billowing off the charred tray (and wow, he didn't know metal could burn like that), Helel was completely at a loss.

"Ah, these don't seem quite right." He muttered, scratching his cheek. All Helel wanted was to give you something in return for your Valentine's gift, something special. He had consulted many people, even asking some of the prisoners, as odd as that sounded.

Most didn't give any good responses, only saying "please let me go" or "you're going to pay for this." Terrible advice, really. Not even on topic, either, but it could be worse, he supposed. So, he went to ask his favorite person to bother.

"For the love of- just make them cookies or something!" Nebuchadnezzar had exclaimed, absolutely done with Helel's ramblings. He looked about ready to chew his tongue off so he could finally know peace again. At least death wouldn't ramble about their lover for 15 hours straight.

It had been a decent suggestion, so Helel had taken it. Perhaps he shouldn't have, considering the disaster that was most of his creations.

The counters were covered in flour, the fine powder dusting the area like snow. Splatters of batter, egg, and butter painted some places like abstract art. The worst place of all, funnily enough, was the table. It was completely clean, presenting only a few delectable looking treats.

Sadly, they were not exactly what they were made to be. Somehow, Helel had managed to make bread instead of cake, a croissant instead of a tart, and now small bricks instead of cookies. He carefully tapped one against the counter, wincing as the wood chipped under the force. The cookie, however, was fine.

'I... can't give them this.'

Helel smiled awkwardly, wanting nothing but to slam his face against a wall. He had thought "it couldn't be that hard!" and look at him now. It was pathetic, to the point he genuinely considered just asking a servant to make something instead. However, that's literally something he could do any other day. It didn't carry the significance he'd want it to.

You had given him the head of the rebellion's leader, which most would find horrifying but he found terribly romantic. The best Valentine's gift, truly. Sure, he couldn't give you something of equal value, but he could try and match the sentiment. Helel knew you loved effort and thought, so he would do his best to give you something of that in equal measure.

So, he couldn't give up. Helel once again turned to a different page in the cook book, praying to himself that he didn't fuck up this time. He couldn't possibly mess up sugar cookies, right? They were simple, so surely no matter what they'd be fine.

He was cursing himself wasn't he?

He poured the ingredients, carefully measuring them as he went through the motions. It went smoother this time since he just made cookies (if he could really call them that). With practice under his belt, Helel managed to make a tray of cookies.

"Now I roll them in sugar before baking... where's the sugar?" He looked around, grabbing at the jars in front of him.

"That's flour... that's baking powder... or is it baking soda?... that's powdered milk... wait why do we have powdered milk? Oh!" Helel smiled as he finally found what he was looking for. He didn't know how the chefs managed to get anything done with nothing labeled, but that was the beauty of not being a chef. He didn't have to know, and perhaps he never would.

So, he popped open the glass jar, pouring in the crystalline fragments into a bowl. They glimmered innocently in the light, small gems that melted upon one's tongue.

Helel quickly tossed each cookie ball into the bowl, placing them back onto the tray afterward. Making sure they weren't too close together, he arranged them one last time. Finally, he placed them in the oven. The timer would let him know when they were ready.

The man sighed, moving quickly to wash the dirty dishes. He knew he could leave it to the servants, but at this point, he just wanted to get rid of the evidence of his failures. Sure, most of his baked treats looked... fine, but the first few looked as though it had gone through someone's digestive system already.

After all was said and done, Helel felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. If this was what the chefs dealt with on the daily, he was going to have to give them a raise. All this for some desserts? Really? They deserved to be paid more for this misery.

Checking the timer, he nodded to himself. 10 minutes was enough time to snack on something. Helel let himself drop into a seat, groaning as his weary legs finally got to rest. He grabbed the cake-turned-bread, cutting off a small slice. The cookies were a definite no, and he had his suspicions about the croissant, but the bread seemed fine.

'If I get poisoned from this, they're never going to let me live it down.'

You would absolutely make fun of him. Morningstar, the King of Babel, dying from his own creation. It sounded like a story Shakespeare wrote, really. Helel hoped more for his pride rather than his life that he wasn't that bad at baking.

Taking a few bites, he found that he wasn't dying yet. Which was relieving, of course, but to his surprise, the bread also tasted not bad. Sweeter than most breads, but nothing unbearable. It was probably going to be one of the few things he could actually share with you.

At the chime of the timer, Helel took the cookies out of the oven, letting them cool. That would give him another few minutes to start packing things up. Should he use red ribbon or white? It's a White Day gift, yes, but you told him red reminded you of him.

Humming, the young king started slicing the bread, gently placing the slices in a nice container. Perhaps he should pack some jam in the basket too- it would go well with it.

Helel glanced at the first batch of cookies, opting to dump them in the trash after a brief moment of contemplation. Could they be used as projectiles? Honestly, yes. Was he going to let anyone know he failed that badly? Never.

Finally, he took a bite of one of the croissants. It was fine as well, just odd. The fruit fillings and cream were distributed well throughout the pastry. If it weren't for the fact that it was supposed to be a tart, Helel might have been proud.

Packing those up as well, he placed the 2 containers in a basket, grabbing a few jars of jam and a butter knife. By then, the cookies were sufficiently cooled. Though, after taking another look at them, Helel wondered what he had done wrong this time.

Unlike the first batch, these cookies were puffy. They weren't like cream puffs, but they were certainly not cookies. Had he mixed up which of the powders he was using? He really wouldn't be surprised if that were the case.

The other pastries he had packed weren't made to be what they ended up as, but tasted fine anyway. Maybe, these would be the same.

So, shrugging his shoulders, Helel tossed one of the "cookies" in his mouth. 

And instantly he regretted it.

It was salty. Not salty in the pleasantly seasoned way, but salty as in if he had drank salt water it would taste better than this.

Spitting out the abomination, Helel glared at one of the jars. Of course he mixed up the sugar and salt, of course. Still, he at least had something other than this. He'd just have to dispose of these.

If you didn't find him.

The door clicks open, and Helel can't decide whether he wants to scream or jump right out the window. In the doorway, as he expects, is you. You're always welcome in his eyes, his wonderful, perfect significant other. However, at this particular moment, he really wishes you weren't here.

"Helel? What are you doing here?"

Though you ask, you already seem to at least know he was baking. Not a very hard assumption to make, all things considered, but that just makes things harder for him.

"I was... baking." He says, giving a strained smile as he slowly grabs the tray of cookies. Hopefully, if he's quick enough, you won't even notice him toss the entire thing in the trash.

'Please do not ask about these, please don't notice-'

"Is that a scone dusted in salt???" 

Helel was going to throw himself off a cliff.

"...I was trying to make sugar cookies."

The look you give him simply reaffirms his decision.

"I... see. What's the occasion?" You draw closer to him, staring curiously at the basket. He's thankful he managed to add a blanket on top beforehand, though it would've been nice if he had tied a ribbon around the handle, too.

"It's White Day, so I wanted to give you something special." Helel responded, dropping the tray with a sigh. It was too late to hide it, so why bother?

You hum softly, lips curling into a smile. You grab one of the scones, taking a bite before he can warn you. Yet, instead of spitting it out like he expected, you chewed as though nothing were wrong with it.

"Are- are you okay?" He can't help but ask. He had tried one right before you came- he knew they didn't taste good. So, how was it that you ate the entire scone without even cringing in the slightest?

"Yep, I'm fine. I'm sure you already know, but these are salty." You laugh, quickly grabbing a glass of water and chugging it. Despite the concern he feels, Helel can't help the way his chest warms. 

"Well, yeah, I was going to warn you about that. Can't believe you ate it all- I spat it out immediately. Why did you eat it anyway?" He can't help but ask. You weren't one to shy away from being honest. The fact you looked him in the eye and told him it was salty was proof enough. You weren't scared of him, so why would you put yourself through that?

You give him a smile, tilting your head towards the window. The sun is high in the sky, letting all know that it was sometime in the afternoon.

"You've been here for... I'm guessing at least 5 hours. I don't know how you haven't collapsed yet, but that's not the point right now. The point is," You take his hands into yours, kissing each of his knuckles. "I see your effort, and I don't want to let it go to waste."

Helel, for all his cruelty, his hatred, his grief- cannot be anything but in love for you. To love is to be seen, to be known, and it seems that for all his life, that's exactly what you've done. Seen him, known him, but most of all, loved him.

So, he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing kisses from your palm down to your wrist. He lingers there, letting you cradle his face as he closes his eyes.

It wasn't perfect by all means, but he thinks that this small moment is worth more than anything he could've ever orchestrated. Helel doesn't need endless praise, gifts, or overwhelming acts. All he needed was a bit of acknowledgement, a bit of love.

"Happy White Day, my sun.”

-

ALTERNATE STORY:

Helel did not realize he was that bad at baking. He completely blames Nebuchadnezzar for everything.

"HELEL, HOW THE FUCK DID YOU MANAGE TO MAKE A MONSTER!?"

"HIS NAME IS FREDERICK KREIBURG AND HE'S SORRY TO SAY THAT HE'S FRENCH!"

"WE AREN'T EVEN IN FRANCE! WHAT DID YOU ADD TO THOSE COOKIES? THE CREMATED REMAINS OF YOUR DAD!?"

"...that explains why the sugar was so dusty."

"...Helel Morningstar Babel-"

"Ahaha... ha..."

Yeah, Helel was going to kill his brother if you didn't end up killing him first.

From Winter to Spring

AN: This fic is actually pretty different from my other ones since this is intended to be more like a letter. I listened to a song called "Magic Lily," which inspired me to write something in the perspective of Ithaqua's mother. The song is meant to be romantic, but I interpreted it as a mother waiting for their son to come back from war. Naturally, with themes of winter and suffering, I think Ithaqua, so here we are. Word count: 1.6 words Summary: A carefully written letter, multiple pages long, is stuffed inside an envelope. It doesn't seem like it was ever meant to meet its recipient, yet it resides within his hands. The delicate papers seems to weigh heavy with the love of a mother.

My dearest dove, 

It has been a long time since I've last seen your face. It's like it was just yesterday that we went to forage together. You had looked at me with such pride in your eyes, having picked two whole baskets of barberries. We had planned to turn them into jam with honey, a small luxury. You had smiled so brilliantly, so happily at that. To be able to make you happy like that made me feel whole, complete. The fondness I felt overwhelmed me, it almost made me want to cry.

I had never understood when other women spoke fondly of their children. They sacrificed their bodies, health, mind, their everything for them. Yet, children will never completely understand that sacrifice. Oftentimes, they take it for granted. They forget it. But you? You made me understand.

It's odd to think of loving someone more than yourself, but that is exactly how I feel. The stars could disappear from the sky, the heavens and earth could collide, and yet, I think I would not mind for as long as you were alive.

So, tell me why, why would you do this to me? Why have you left me like this?

Once we came back, setting aside our foraged goods, I felt an impending sense of doom. My throat tightened, heart racing as I felt unadulterated fear roll through me. Perhaps it was an instinctual thing, like how many of life's creations can sense death. I could tell my demise was near, be it in one way or another.

You had looked at me with worried eyes, asking me what was wrong. You have always been a sweet child, caring and attentive and so, so very smart. No matter how much I tried to hide my feelings, you always seemed to know when something was wrong. I sometimes wish you weren't such an intelligent boy, but that would be cruel of me. I love you for who you are- to remove any part of you would mean taking away who you are now. I could never do that.

I had forced a smile to my face as I told you I forgot something in my room, something important. You didn't believe me, but you did not pry. Thank you for trusting me, even when you knew I was lying. I know it's horrible to lie to you, but I had to do what I did.

I had ran to my room, throwing aside a cloth to reveal a crystal ball. Divination is not my specialty; it was the specialty of my mother. However, I am still above the rest when it comes to reading fate. What I saw was exactly what I had anticipated, something I hadn't feared before. Now, however, I was. I was beyond scared- I was downright terrified.

Before, I had nothing. My mother had been killed in a witch hunt, my home had been razed, and my friends and fellow villagers had turned their backs on me. I was consumed by rage, sorrow, and despair. I had nothing to lose but my life, I had no one to love but myself. 

Still, I could not hate people. I was human as the rest, but I was shunned. I was hated for my hair, for being a woman, for existing. Still, I could only hope, I could only live. To die would be to give into their hate, to throw away my mother's sacrifice for me to live.

Thus, I lived. Out of spite, out of grief. I lived because of love, because my mother would want me to. And, on my travels, I found God. I found peace. Life seemed less like a punishment than it had before.

Then, I found you.

At one point, I had wished my mother hadn't sacrificed herself for me, I wished she had lived instead of me. However, I understand now. I understand why she did what she did. As a mother, you are willing to do anything for your child. Even if it means becoming a monster, even if it means killing someone, you would do whatever it takes to protect your child.

In that moment, watching the future in which not just I would die, but you as well, I made up my mind. 

I cannot lie and say I did not want to live. I wanted to watch you continue to grow, to become a lovely young gentleman. I wanted to watch you become an adult, to love, to live. I didn't want to miss any moment of your growth, of you becoming your own person. However, I was willing to give up everything if it meant you'd live.

I got a glimpse of my fate and I couldn't help but shutter. Tortured till my mind broke, till I was no longer human, till I was no longer me. That was my fate should I sacrifice myself. But, was it worse than if you were to be tortured with me? Killed with me?

No, nothing could be worse than that.

So, knowing what kind of fate awaited me, I stood tall and put on a brave face. We didn't have much time, after all.

I asked you to hide in the closet, the men already knocking on our door. They banged against the wood as though it owed them money. The sound was like the call of death, a scythe hovering over my neck. But what can a mother do? I could only smile through the thundering of my heartbeat, through the tears that were rising in my eyes, the tight compression of my chest.

I was scared.

For me? Maybe. Mostly, it was for you. If they found you, I don't know what I would do.

The door swings open and I meet a painfully familiar face, as well as many armored ones. His arrogance is unlike your humility, the way he smiles is so different from your own. It's like a bearing of fangs, like a predator that had found its prey. It's horrible, terrible, what he does with your face. Your brother he may be, if only in blood, but he could never compare to you.

His words are laced with malice and self-importance, his finger pointed at me. I had braced myself for when the armored men would drag me away, manhandle me as though I were a fugitive and not just a lady, a mother.

Then, you came out of hiding.

Looking at your back, so small yet wide, I truly wanted to fall to my knees and weep. Your arms spread out, shielding me, you had stood. 

Ah, is love meant to hurt like this? Be difficult like this? Or, perhaps, is it just me?

I couldn't believe my ears when I heard you bargain with them, begging them to take you instead of me, to leave me alone. Words were clogged in my throat as you spoke, everything you said hurting more than any wound I'd ever had.

He had a contemplative look, that child. Then, like a cruel judge, he gave his ruling. He gave into your will, even going so far as to promise he'd place me somewhere I'd never be hunted again.

I had wanted to cry. I had wanted to scream. However, when you had turned to me with a smile so kind, so sweet, so sad and knowing, not a single sound could escape my lips.

You promised to come back to me in spring, like the flowers that withered in fall. You held my hands even as tears fell from your eyes, even as I tried to hold you back with all my might.

Yet, it was not enough.

You were taken from me.

Why? Why did this have to happen? Why did we have to suffer like this? Was this retribution? Punishment? For not having followed God sooner? For living? For existing?

My anger towards that boy, towards God, and towards the world, none of it could compare to the anger I feel towards myself.

This arduous path which I had to take, covered in thorns and decorated with hate, why did you have to take it too?

Ultimately, I believe it is because of me.

(There's darkened circles upon the paper, some smearing the last few words.)

It's been 5 years since then. Every time the snow melts, ushering in the coming of spring, I wait with anticipation. I wait for the sound of footsteps, for the sounds of life.

I wait for you.

It has been 5 years of fluttering frost, blossoming flowers, sunny fields, and bountiful harvests. I've seen the seasons come and go, the birds leaving for winter before returning home. Yet, the most important bird of all, my dearest dove, has yet to return.

There's a special kind of sadness that comes with spring. It starts with joy, which turns to immeasurable sorrow. I always wait, yet you never come.

Are you alive? Are you well? I've been taken to a place where no one despises me, where everyone accepts me, yet I'd rather be pelted with stones than part from your side. I would give up everything if I could just see your face once more.

Is it just me? This spring feels a bit worse than the last. I hope without hope, though I know you won't come. Not knowing if you're alive or well, it drives me mad. My divination has failed me, not allowing me to see anything beyond the veil of reality.

But, I want to believe. I have to believe. You always keep your promises, so I must believe it, believe that you will come back to me. I must weather the seasons, the storms, the sun, the snow, all for the day you return.

Yet, I grow tired of waiting. My heart is heavy, and my soul is weary. My eyes are always full of tears, constantly worried about you to this day.

How many more springs must I wait?

My dear child.

My beloved son.

*****.

Please.

Please.

Come home.

Rises the Moon (Ithaqua×Reader)

AN: 3 posts in a row? More likely than you'd think! The next is probably gonna be dropped on New Years since I heard if you post too much at once, you can get shadow banned. Still, gotta feed you guys the few things I've written before I'm dragged back to school. This fic was actually written in August for the Ithaqua server's Ithaugust. The prompt was "you forgot, but I remember." I was between hitting the reader with a car k-drama style or this, but luckily I ended up with this. Enjoy! Word count: 2.0k words TW: Mild violence, death, and yandere themes. Summary: The sun god has always loved the deity of the moon. Even as galaxies collided and the stars died, he has loved them. But fate is not kind, ripping you away from him. Again, and again, and again. So, even if you cry, he can only apologize. He'd rather confine you in these walls than lose you ever again.

"What do you think of mortals, my sun?"

"They're selfish fools who yearn for more than they need, so easily consumed by greed."

"My, such cruel generalizations. Not all of them are like that."

"Perhaps, but can you truly claim that most are innocent?"

"I suppose not, but I believe in it."

"Believe in what?"

"The good in humanity. I'm willing to bet my life on it."

-

The ebbing and flowing of time was as inevitable as the pushing and pulling of the tides, taking with it lives and memories of the past. With each rotation of the sun, the rise of a new moon, and the occasional visits of comets and asteroids from beyond, life continued. Regardless of the pain and suffering of those who lived on, the world continued to turn, just as time continued to march on. Sometimes, Ithaqua wished it would just stop.

Thirty million, two hundred two thousand, and twenty three years have passed.

Twenty five human lifetimes have come and gone, each one leaving him more grief-stricken than before.

Every encounter with you was as devastating as the last, leaving Ithaqua yearning to see you again while praying he didn't. Every time he met you, you'd steal his heart again, as if you could steal something that was already yours to begin with. Yet, still, he'd fall in love with you again and again, lifetime after lifetime, like a fool.

Each life only really started when he met you, held you in his arms, and loved you. Then, tragically, horribly, unavoidably, his life ended when you died.

The first life had been fine, the two of you born as commoners in some civilization long past. It was a hard life of surviving the elements, fending off wild animals, and trying to just live in a world humans had not yet adapted to. Still, however difficult it was, Ithaqua treasured the memories of that life as it had taught him so much about humans. 

Such resilient creatures, capable of persevering and creating. He saw just how brilliant they were, and just how stupid as well. They could take down animals twice their size and weight yet couldn't figure out how to navigate. 

Incredible. 

Regardless, sitting around campfires, singing songs, running in the fields and just living was invigorating. Ithaqua came to appreciate life and the small things within it; from the crunching of leaves to the chirping of birds, the blue seas and the cloudy skies. The views and experiences he'd never get to have as a god, the ones he'd never get to know or love as an immortal, even the very essence of fleeting lives became so, so very beautiful to him.

Humans were nothing compared to the gods, but when Ithaqua sat among them, talked to them, laughed with them, he came to find that you were right. Despite how difficult it was to live in this world, humans still held kindness for each other. They offered him food despite not having much for themselves. They offered him shelter despite not having much room. They offered him help despite needing help themselves.

Such complicated, foolish, yet oddly kind creatures they were, but that made them all the more charming. Ithaqua genuinely considered that the humans in this world were unlike the ones from the last, that they were truly good. They treated the two of you so well, and taught him so much.

The last lesson they ever taught him was just how far they'd go to ensure their own survival.

It wasn't something Ithaqua ever expected to experience, not when he had been a god his whole life. The rumble of the earth as it trembled under the stamping feet of hundreds of cattle shocked him. Fear bloomed in his heart as he saw animals he'd only ever regarded as sacrifices before becoming deadly, stampeding through the small village the two of you resided in.

He was lucky, or so many had said. Surviving such an experience by not being too close was a blessing. Yet, how could Ithaqua feel that way when you hadn't made it out safely? When he saw, from the cliff that watched over the village,  that a man pushed you in front of the charging cattle to save himself?

The bitter taste of betrayal lingered on his tongue for a long time, even after he had killed the man and everyone whose negligence led to the incident.

The next life was kinder, as though the world itself understood he needed time to process things and feel better. When he met you once more, you had given him a warm smile and a hug.

Ithaqua held you for a long, long time. He breathed in your scent, listened to the steady beat of your heart, and slowly started to compose himself. He hadn't even realized how distressed he was until he found himself calm once more.

The two of you caught up, explaining what had happened in this life, what you wanted to do in this slightly more advanced time, and more. At some point, Ithaqua had to ask you if you still believed in the good in humanity.

"Of course I do! Why wouldn't I?"

He wanted to say the obvious answer. He wanted to point out the fact that you died in the last life because of humans, because of their selfishness, their incompetence, their betrayal. Yet, when he looked in your eyes, seeing them clear of any feelings of hatred, Ithaqua let it go. If you forgave them, he would too.

Really, it should've been more obvious to him that it was a warning.

The gentle days of sitting in the sun, playing in the river, and feeling the pure relief of having you back had made Ithaqua blind to such a hint. He simply went on with this life, living happily with you by his side.

Though extremely wary, Ithaqua came to trust humans once more. Naively, he came to believe that perhaps, the humans of this time period were better. Perhaps, they were more civilized. With less of a focus on surviving and more so on improving the quality of life, things were more peaceful than before.

Ithaqua relaxed as he once more laughed among humans, sharing new jokes, reciting old poetry, and learning new things that had recently been discovered. You always smiled so sweetly when you saw him interact with mortals, so he tried his best to be more social.

"Talking with humans is crucial! It helps stimulate the brain and be happier. We're humans now, so we need to keep in mind what they need to survive."

Ithaqua would've loved to disagree, claiming that this vulnerable mortal shell was not who he was, therefore his needs were not the same, but his stomach would always disagree. Still, he vehemently denied being human, even as he ate whatever you had made for him. At the least, Ithaqua knew he didn't need to spend time with others. You were more than enough.

The moments he had with you were treasured more than any others.

He shared the first snowfall of his life with you, the soft specks of ice fluttering delicately in the wind. They swirled around you two as you danced, laughing as the surroundings became blanketed in white. Ithaqua thought, once again, that the world was beautiful. But, perhaps that was just because of you?

However, it seemed like only when the wounds of the past had healed that tragedy would strike once more. This time, it was a more targeted murder, one where they were out to kill you specifically. Poisoned to death because of jealousy, because of someone who apparently loved him and thought that, somehow, he'd love them if they killed you.

The first winter of that year was tainted by the blood on his hands, soaking into the snow. Red seeped into the ice and polluted the otherwise serene beauty of the frost covered land, painting it in ugly colors that seared itself into his mind. However, compared to the sight of your cold, lifeless, glassy eyes, the once comforting and kind ones that shined like stars in the sky, it was no travesty.

No words in the world could express the pain in his chest or the severity of this crime. Not even if the heavens fell or if the world itself turned its back on its inhabitants, nothing, nothing at all could be worse than the sin of robbing you of your life.

Ithaqua's heart ached more than his frostbitten fingers realizing that, this year, he wouldn't get to dance with you. Not this year nor the next, or the next, not until he died and was reborn to start the cycle anew.

Even after the first betrayal, the first death, Ithaqua felt incredibly hurt that he was betrayed again by humanity.

Still, he pushed on.

For you.

Yet, with each life that passed by, you recognized Ithaqua less and less. You forgot things about him, be it his godhood or the memories you shared. You were starting to forget yourself, not remembering that you weren't human, that this wasn't how you were supposed to be.

By the tenth life, you didn't recognize him at all.

You remembered nothing about your past lives, nothing about your godhood, not even his name, nothing, you remembered nothing.

You forgot.

Still, he desperately sought you out. In each life, Ithaqua tried to get you to remember your past lives, the happy memories, the bad ones, even just his name or the stupid bet, anything. It would be fine if you remembered that time he slipped and fell like an idiot. It would be fine if you remembered how he tried to drown a fish. It would be fine if you remembered anything, anyone, just as long as you remembered.

But you didn't.

And, every time, you'd die.

Again. And again. And again.

You fell for the trickery of humans time and time again. To their cunning, their cruelty, their evil. No matter how he tried to save you, how hard he tried to convince you not to trust them, it never mattered. Everything he did was futile, only ever allowing him to miserably watch as you died again.

Once upon a time, Ithaqua believed. He thought it was possible that, in another world, another place, humans could be kind. They gave kindness so freely, offering assistance and support with smiles, but in the end, the results were always the same.

Humans could never be trusted, not when he- you had been betrayed in every lifetime.

…

Twenty five. 

Twenty five lifetimes with you. Watching you get betrayed, watching you suffer, watching you die.

And yet, you remembered none of them.

It's no different this time, you see him and feel a connection, yet you don't remember him. You sometimes remember things about him like his favorite color, his favorite foods, even the things he hates, but it's always chalked up to instincts, nothing more and nothing less.

Ithaqua is tired. Tired of being forgotten, tired of being betrayed, but most of all, tired of losing you. So, there's really only one thing he can do. If you won't listen to his warnings, and if all of his efforts to protect you are futile, then the only logical option is to keep you away from humans.

It's not hard to get you away from them when you trust him with your life.

Delicately trailing a finger down your face, Ithaqua smiles. Blindfolded, chained, and trapped you may be, but you're still radiant in his eyes. Ever so brilliant and glowing, even within the confines of a dimly lit room.

"It'll be okay, my moon, all will be fine. Here, you are safe. No one can hurt you, and no one can take you away." Ithaqua drags his hand down your arm, watching you shiver. He pulls up the blanket on your lap to cover you more, humming lightly.

"You know, I'm quite a jealous man." He says off-handedly, rubbing a thumb over your knuckles, the chain around your wrist clinking at the faint movement.

"Death has had you for so long... would it be so selfish of me to ask you to stay with me for eternity?"

If you don't remember, it's fine. After all, he remembers, and that's what matters. Ithaqua can remind you as many times as you need. After all, you can't leave.

norton, naib, or fredrick waking up to their s/o not in bed but s/o is up cooking? they've been doing this for a few days now and it helps soothe their nerves when they have an upcoming match, sometimes other members of the manor are up so they normally have whatever they made when they arent hungry or they make enough portions for anyone who might be up and hungry,,,generally tooth-rotting fluff, bonus if the characters are a little clingy ???

tysm <33

AN: Qjgpjwvphvsvksj thank you for this soft request! I was surprised to see a request for someone who isn't Ithaqua, but I'm extremely grateful for that. I love Ithaqua, but if I keep on writing him and him alone I'm going to lose my mind. By the way, sorry for the long wait. I didn't forget this request, I just had to deal with school lol. I was also conflicted on who to choose and how to go about it. In the end, I've chosen Naib. I must apologize, though, since I wrote him much softer than most would expect of him. Still, I hope you enjoy! Word count: 1.4k words Summary: Waking up next to you is the best part of the day. To get to see your peaceful face first thing in the morning is a blessing. It makes Naib look forward to waking up early, no matter how much his body protests. Sadly, this has become a rather rare occurrence lately. Won't you indulge him a bit?

The mornings in the manor are always quiet and serene, a stark contrast to the afternoon when matches are in full swing. The faint chirping of birds, the leaking sunlight through the blinds, and the wafting scent of breakfast come together to create a sleepy wake up call. Getting to bask in the dazed ambiance of the rising dawn is one of Naib's favorite things in the world.

Usually, he would get to enjoy this all with you. Well, kind of. You tended to sleep in more often than not, though he wasn't about to complain. You looked adorable while you slept, so completely at peace. Nowadays, he can't even see your face until it's halfway through the afternoon or, if he's lucky, in the kitchen during breakfast. 

Today marks the fifth day in a row that Naib has woken up without you. The sight of the empty bed leaves him feeling cold despite the blankets pulled over him. It's a bit bitter, too, since today was a more relaxed day where Naib didn't have as many matches. Lazing around with you would've been perfect.

With a sigh, he gets ready to start the day, though more specifically, to see you. His footsteps are light as he descends from the stairs, gloved palms dragging along the lacquered wood of the railing. Taking a deep breath, Naib scowls as he marches towards the kitchen. The few survivors who are awake, namely Emma and Victor, move away from his path once they catch sight of his expression. He'd apologize to them later, but for now, he was a man with a mission.

The mercenary quickly arrives at the kitchen, the sound of light humming reaching his ears. The wordless song is enough to put him at ease, his lungs filling with air as he lets himself breathe. His face softens, the tension in his jaw loosening and his shoulders relaxing as Naib carefully opens the door a bit more. Leaning against the doorframe, his lips curl into a gentle smile, his eyes crinkling as he watches you do this and that.

Eggs crackle and pop with oil within a cast iron pan, the scent of freshly toasted bread drifting in the air as you prepare plates. Your smile is a balm to his aching heart, soothing him as he quietly watches you place food on trays. The breeze ruffles your hair like the gentle hand of a mother, messing up your already rather disheveled appearance.

Taking a better look at you, Naib can't help but snort in amusement. Flour paints your left cheek a powdery white, jam covers your apron in splotches of jewel like reds and purples, and butter is somehow smeared across your forehead. How you hadn't noticed, he doesn't know. Still, even looking as though you had just fought a pastry chef and won, you looked so, so lovely to him.

You look up at Naib, confusion written across your face. The moment you meet his eyes, it all washes away to reveal a smile. He's tempted to raise a hand and shield himself from the brightness of your gaze. He doesn't, of course- looking away from you feels like a cardinal sin.

"Naib! I didn't expect to see you here. Or, awake at all- it's 7 AM, you should be in bed." You scold him lightly, though your cheery look negates everything you say. In the first place, he wouldn't be up if it weren't for you. But alas, his love refused to be the sleepy head he knew them to be.

"How about you stay in bed from now on so I can stay in bed too?" It's said more so as a request than a question. Naib walks up to you, fondness whispered in his every touch as he wipes away a bit of flour from your cheek. It doesn't do much, really, just leaves a streak of slightly less floured skin.

You smile apologetically, leaning into his hand and kissing his palm. Though Naib makes no reaction externally, his heart bursts in his chest, warmth blotting out the cold emptiness from before. He supposes that makes up for the disappointment of waking up without you this morning.

"I'm sorry Naib, I've just been really anxious lately. I've been getting a lot more matches than usual, and it's been making me rather nervous. I'm sorry if I've been disturbing your sleep." Your soft words, coupled with your genuinely worried eyes, causes tenderness to flood his chest again. Naib found it hard to tell you honestly how he felt, so in moments like these where you didn't hesitate to express yourself, he couldn't help but be reminded of what made him fall in love with you. Your desire to be transparent, to be sincere and communicate, made him love you all the more. It was a strength he didn't have before, yet now, telling the truth came easy when it came to you.

"You haven't been disturbing my sleep, I just miss lazing in bed with you." Naib wraps his arms around you, his chin resting on your shoulder. He doesn't care about how his clothes are probably dirty now, thinking more about how he could help you ease your nerves. Would waking up and cooking with you be better? Naib didn't mind the idea of waking up earlier just to spend more time with you.

He's dragged out of his musings as you yawn, tearing up a bit as you pull away from his embrace. You blink your watery eyes, stretching your weary limbs. Naib winces a bit at the following cracks and pops of your joints, staring at you with considerable amounts of concern.

"When is your earliest match?" He asks suddenly, watching as you tilt your head in confusion.

"Hm? It should be around 3 PM. There aren't as many matches for me today, and not as early, either. Why?"

One could practically see the gears turning in Naib's head as he smiles, untying your apron and lifting it off of you. He places it on a hook before he starts pulling you away from the kitchen. You dig your feet into the ground, frowning.

"Hey! I still need to make breakfast for the others, you can't just- WHA-"

Naib gives you a cheeky grin, continuing to walk away from the kitchen and up the stairs as he bridal carries you. His arms don't falter no matter how much you complain or tug at him. His hold is steady and unyielding, keeping you captive till you're finally back in your shared room.

"They can make their own breakfast. You haven't slept properly for a while, and I've missed out on a lot of quality naps with you. I think you can indulge me just this once, can't you?" He tilts his face down to look at you, his nose barely grazing your own. Naib watches with satisfaction as you can only grumble a quiet "fine," a light flush covering your face.

Naib was weak to you, but you were just as weak to him. You would never say no to his requests, not when it took so much courage for him to ask. And if it were something you wanted too? How could you ever resist?

When the both of you lie down once again, donning your pajamas with no regards to the risen sun, Naib feels that everything in the world is right again. You're already passed out, sleep taking you the moment your head rested against his chest and the blankets covered the two of you.

With you in his arms, he can smell the scent of buttered toast and eggs that lingers on you. He wonders if you can hear his heartbeat, pressed so close to him. Naib hopes it isn't too loud. He can't help how enamored he is, how stupidly fond he is of you. 

He can't help how in love he is with you. 

So, forgive him if he holds you a bit too tightly, as though he never wants to let you go. Please forgive him for playing with your hair, till there's one strand that permanently curls out. Won't you forgive him when he almost makes you late, sleepily dragging you back into his arms?

Naib loves you in all his quiet yet loud, straightforward yet hidden, contradictory ways. So, won't you love him too? Won't you rest in his arms lazily even as the dawn comes and goes?

Morningstar and Fun Facts

AN: Hello fellow Ithaqua simps. Apologies for the long radio silence, college was kinda brutal. I've been wanting to draw something for "Of Vices and Virtues" for a while, but couldn't find the motivation. So, after many months and getting through finals, I offer you this! ...and some fun facts for my previously posted fics. No one asked for them, but I figured it'll be a good way to organize a mini masterlist until I finally gather the motivation to make the official one. Whether you're new here or not, I hope you enjoy!

"Of Vices and Virtues" Fun Facts:

The concept of shadows and light representing vices and virtues, good and evil, was literally just made up on the spot as an excuse as to why the reader is so intrigued by pre-snap Morningstar

I kinda had to get rid of reader's parents somehow to further get across the point of Helel being all you have just as you are all he has, so I made them traitors lol

But also, the sweet sweet taste of betrayal is always worse when it's from the people you trusted the most

Reader's parents were the ones to snitch on Morningstar's mom since they believed she was using witchcraft on you

They just wanted to protect you as you were slowly acting weirder and weirder the more time you spent in the forest

Naturally, the first person they blamed was the lady who everyone already kinda thought was a witch

Really, it's just that your curiosity led to you being enraptured by others "true" selves, warping and twisting your views on people, including yourself

That being said, your light and Helel's shadows being irregular ends up implying that the shadows and light you see never fully expressed whether a person was really "good" or "bad," just as the world is never black and white

Were you always insane? Or was it your abilities that drove you mad? Or perhaps your reliance on said abilities was what brought you to your downfall?

Regardless of what conclusion you come too, I hope it was fun

"Apricity" and "Zephyr" Fun Facts:

I actually only wrote Apricity since a friend said there wasn't enough Ithaqua fics

Legit I didn't feel like writing another fanfic ever again since my first one (I still get nightmares of it every night)

I never intended for Zephyr to exist, but I really wanted to show that one, you aren't an oblivious idiot, and two, you only got that one on one match because you specifically asked for it, worked for it, because you were willing to try and keep him in your life instead of letting him slip away

Because I wrote Zephyr after Apricity, Zephyr built on and sometimes conflicted with Apricity, which led to me straight up having to go back through it at least two hundred times

Despite that, I've kinda already forgotten what happened in both fics 💀

"Sweetest Thing" Fun Facts:

Currently the one and only non-Ithaqua fanfic I have (hint hint)

Another fic for another friend, and honestly I had a blast writing it

More people need to write for the ladies cause I don't see them enough >:[

This idea ended up coming from a random prompt generator that threw at me "royal" and "baking cookies together"

It's extremely attractive when someone tries to cook for you, especially when they aren't good because it shows they care and want you to know they care even though they aren't confident in themself

Their love for you overpowers their fear of failure and the unknown

And failing then trying to do it together is also super sweet

I might end up doing this prompt again but with Ithaqua at some point

(Morningstar accidentally making bread instead of cake or a salty scone instead of a cookie sounds fun too)

("Is that a scone dusted in salt???" "...I was trying to make sugar cookies.")

"New Beginnings" Fun Facts:

I hate this fic with a burning passion

I put too many ideas in and described too much

Literally I think this is the worst fic I've posted thus far

It was meant to show a world where Ithaqua and Nathaniel are happy siblings, then go into the romance bit with the reader and be all sweet and sappy

This fic made me understand why writers start killing off characters out of nowhere

HOW DO YOU ONLY WRITE FLUFF???

Let me just sprinkle in a little angst,,, just a little...

Half considered shooting Nathaniel mid fic for fun/hj

In conclusion, I'm never writing a fic with more than one central idea ever again

"Mercy" Fun Facts:

Well, first and foremost, the fact that it has a title at all is probably a surprise

Yes, it does have a title, but no, I'll never actually put it there in the post

It doesn't look nice when I do :<

I should probably try and format my posts differently-

It was honestly pretty difficult to write this since I had never gotten a request before and didn't know how to do it

I think in the end, it turned out pretty decent

I hope to get better at writing requests in the future since they make me happy

The prompt actually made me realize that duo hunters is basically a goldmine of opportunities

Jealousy, betrayal, character dynamics, and other things are so much easier to do when you're in the perfect setting for it

"Paper Stars" and "Glass Heart" Fun Facts:

This idea started when I saw a reel on Instagram about this person who made a bunch of paper stars

I've always thought it was cool, and then I remembered the little legend and was like "mmm yes angst"

It was a new flavor too! Unrequited love instead of self sabotage

Oh wait actually it's self sabotage in a trench coat and a hat

Well, technically both since you didn't know that your love wasn't unrequited 

This duo fic was actually gonna be a trio fic with the last one being happy

But I think I like the amount of emotional damage I've inflicted with Glass Heart

(If requested though I'll finish writing the third part)

(It's called Velvet Moon)

I actually never had a chance to add this in, but later on, Ithaqua finds out that those who remained in the manor never had to participate in matches again, so his sacrifice was for nothing

No I am not sorry

Glass Heart (Ithaqua×Reader)

AN: I love me my different perspectives. So, here is the Ithaqua POV/continuation of "Paper Stars." It comes with the last of my sanity :) Word count: 2.5k words Summary: He can't love you. He said it specifically that way because it would be a lie if he ever said that he didn't love you. Ithaqua could never not love you. Even when he loves you enough to make his glass heart shatter, he won't stop. Even as he cuts his fingers putting it back together, he can't stop loving you, just as he can't love you.

When he first met you, Ithaqua's first thought was simple.

'Ugh, a stunner.'

Certainly not the most romantic thought in the world, but he is a hunter after all. Besides, you made the match quite difficult with your abilities, so could you really blame him?

Despite his annoyance, Ithaqua (begrudgingly) respected your skills. You hadn't been at the manor long, barely having arrived before him, yet you had already seemingly mastered your abilities and understood the game well. It made him a bit curious, since most who entered the manor fumbled at the start. Such high adaptive capabilities matched with a kind heart and intelligent mind rarely appeared naturally. 

Besides that, this was Oletus manor. No one who came here, willingly or unwillingly, was truly normal. They were unfortunate, greedy, foolish, or naive, if not all at once usually. Their stories, which they seldom shared, were one's that people could only say are pitiful, really. 

So, what are you? Another greedy soul who wished for gold, glory, and more? Perhaps you were someone seeking repentance for their past sins, or a way to forget them? Were you seeking closure from the loss of a loved one? Or, maybe, you were here for revenge?

Interestingly, as he came to get to know you, he found that you weren’t any of them at all. You had come to the manor to find yourself, as you had lost most of your memories due to a horrible accident.

"It's weird." You had said. "Being surrounded by people who apparently know me, yet I don't know them much, if at all. They keep telling me I should like this or hate that, but... that's not who I am now. I guess what I wanted most was to know who I was before, not to become them, but to understand. Understand who it is they miss. It's weird to miss someone who's right in front of you, but in a way, the old me died that day, and now, I'm here. Shouldn't I at least try to be empathetic to those who were close to me?"

It's stupid, he thinks, that those close to you hurt you, ripping you apart to find any shred of the "you" they once knew. Certainly, it's heartbreaking to have someone you love forget you, but hurting them won't bring back their memories. Ithaqua can't understand why they would rather mourn the you that's gone than to love the you that's here now. Instead of thinking about all the memories you had lost, it would be better to treasure the time they had with you and make new ones.

Perhaps it's just human nature to be stuck in the past, to mourn what they had, to lust for more than they need.

Regardless, Ithaqua found that you were lovely just the way you were. Even as pieces of your memories came back, as you started to grow more aware of your habits and why you did them, you were still you. You shared with him sometimes the memories that came back, smiling as you fiddled with another paper star you made.

"A friend once told me that if I make a thousand paper stars, I can get a wish fulfilled!" 

"Well then, I suppose you'll get that wish quite soon. You've been making those absent-mindedly for quite a while."

You had smiled, a proud one that lit up your whole face. You proclaimed you would make a thousand jars of a thousand paper stars. After all, a thousand stars for a wish seems quite cheap, even if this is all superstition.

Whenever Ithaqua remembers that moment, he can't help but smile. Such determination for something you weren't even sure was going to work. Childish, yet that flickering hope was too brilliant for him to willingly extinguish. So, he didn't, watching and sometimes even helping to grow your collection of stars. 

Many years passed, and as the days flew by, Ithaqua couldn't quite hide the feelings that had started to take root in his chest. They were beautiful and complicated, making him lose his cool and fumble where he usually wouldn't. They were odd, they were powerful, and they were so painfully human.

Ithaqua didn't think he was capable of being human again before he met you.

His glass heart, once perfect and whole, had shattered the same day his mother was ripped away from him. With that, all of his reason and humanity had left him. Ithaqua became a monster that hunted down everyone who dared hurt his mother, was even remotely involved. It didn't matter who they were; for as long as they assisted in hurting him and his family, they were dead.

Yet, as revenge tends to do, it left him empty and cold once he had acquired it. The flames of anger and hatred quietly burned out as all that remained was sorrow. Beneath his desire for vengeance was a boy who simply wanted his mother back. However, lost lives could never come back, and even if they could, Ithaqua didn't know if he had the courage to look his mother in the eye after all he had done.

When he had told you this, his sins laid bare before your eyes, you hugged him. No fear touched you, nor did any feelings of hatred or disgust. If anything, you looked like you were in pain. It was the first time in his life Ithaqua ever experienced someone being angry on his behalf, who saw who he was and sought to understand rather than to judge. 

Perhaps his sins were unforgivable, he knew they weren't one's he could easily cleanse, but when you held him and told him you loved him regardless, he felt that he'd do whatever it takes to be forgiven. Ithaqua thought that, if he repented and were one day forgiven, he would then at least have the right to one day tell you how much he loved you. Would you wait until that day? His heart made of glass, fragile as ever, felt like it healed at the mere thought.

However, life isn't so kind as to offer you the time to do all that you wish. It marches on ruthlessly and takes with it people, places, and memories.

It was an accident, but he overheard it.

"I can't wait to leave the manor."

Of course you would want to leave. Ithaqua would never hold it against you to want to leave. After all, for as long as you resided within the manor, the chances of you being pulled into a match was practically 100%. It was better if you left the manor. 

Yet, he forgot one crucial detail.

One day, you will be able to leave the manor. Ithaqua, however, would never be able to leave the manor, not alive at least. Hunters were those who were long dead, immortal, or the like. Ithaqua was someone who was both mortal yet immortal, therefore unable to leave. Hunters could only leave either by moving on to the afterlife or by going to their special realms. Therefore, Ithaqua would never quite be able to stand by your side no matter what he chose to become.

It was a terrible truth, one only he would know. The other hunters would say it'd be fine if they knew, but he felt it was not. The only way for the two of you to be together is if you stayed in the manor, and that isn't something either or you want. Ithaqua could never ask you to suffer so he could keep you by his side. He would rather live his life without you if it means you'd be happy.

He loves you. He can't help but love you. But if it means you'll suffer, he can't love you. Ithaqua refuses to be the reason you suffer, even if it means breaking his glass heart with his own hands.

So, he starts acting as if he's blind and deaf. Ithaqua is by no means an idiot, nor is he oblivious, but he can certainly pretend he is. Even as you stare at him with love and adoration, even as you grow more comfortable with him, even as you clearly show that you're in love with him as much as he is with you, he can't. Though his heart beats for you, his mind will not allow it to do anything beyond that.

He wants to hold you, press his hands into your cheeks and watch you flounder in confusion, wants to kiss words of affection onto every inch of your skin until you realize that you are loved, but he cannot.

Ithaqua can't love you, yet he can't stop loving you. He knows this is hurting you just like it's hurting him, but what else can he do? He can't let you know the truth, he knows you'd certainly stay if you did. That is the worst case scenario, truly. So, to protect you, he must hurt you. 

How cruel.

The cruelest thing, however, is how the marching of time finally comes to knock on his door, informing him his time with you is over. You are to leave him in barely a day.

The first feeling that bubbles up is relief. You'll finally be free, you'll finally be safe. He says he's happy for you when you tell him, and he means it. It's only once you leave that the other feelings boil over.

Grief, longing, anger, and pain. They overwhelm him from the inside out, crushing his poor, poor heart as he weather's the storm of his emotions. For a moment, a moment of intense weakness, Ithaqua considers asking you to stay. To ask you to stay by him and don't leave him please don't leave him he'll do anything just please-

But he knows he can't. 

When you finally leave, when he feels you slip from his grasp like sand slipping through fingers, he has to stop himself from reaching out. Ithaqua can only let himself mourn as he has lost the person he has loved the most once again, this time truly and wholly due to himself.

Then, he discovers the messages. Well, more like memos. He breaks apart star after star, reading sentence upon sentence, forming what he can only describe as the most terribly beautiful thing he's ever seen. Each star marks the feelings you felt, the Ithaqua you saw and loved. 

It's painful. So, so very painful, to see through your eyes who he was and how much you loved him. A galaxy of "I love you's" you never said, confessions and prayers littering a milky way formed from stardust and dedication. The heart crushing mess that tore you up inside as you tried to contain it longer and longer, forming paper stars in its wake. The only remnants of you, the only proof of your pain and affection.

Then, he remembers.

"I'll make a thousand jars of a thousand paper stars. I'll fill loads of bottles and jars, put them everywhere in my room, and get a wish! What do you think, Ithaqua?"

Never in his life was Ithaqua more glad to have the wind at his beck and call.

He ran down halls, climbed up stairs, and passed seemingly millions of windows and doors. The whistling of the whipping wind seemed to beckon him, begging him to run faster. He wound around corners, barely missing the remaining hunters and survivors, before finally, at last, he arrived at his destination. 

Your room.

As he lifts his hand up to open the door, he hesitates. Ithaqua rests his hand on the handle, pursing his lips as he wonders if this is a good idea. Certainly, knowing everything that you felt will bring him more pain. It will bring him closure, perhaps, but truly, nothing could be worth the heartache he'll feel.

However, turning away now would be the same as turning away from you. He'd be turning away from the truth, from the fact that he had a chance with you, yet was too cowardly to try and keep you by his side, to make it work somehow. Even if the world is not ideal, when it's for the person you love, you can compromise and make almost anything happen.

So, he opens the door, finding it much emptier than the last time he visited. Photos and clothes, little knick knacks and trinkets that once filled your room are missing, taking with it the feel of home. All that remains are the bare furniture and the bottles and jars of paper stars.

It started slowly, Ithaqua opening the containers on your table. Then, mere moments later, he was opening hundreds upon hundreds of jars, bottle after bottle, pouring out the universe and its secrets upon the table as he opened star upon star. Depending on how long you had been at the manor when creating them, the feelings differed, as did the colors.

Frantically, desperately, Ithaqua read through the fine texts, each word stabbing into him worse than the last. The first stars he had read from were the most recent. The further back in time he went, the less hopeless, pained, and tearful they were. The further he went back, the more lovesick your words became.

"Today, Ithaqua tripped and fell like a baby fawn on ice. It was the funniest thing I've ever seen, yet somehow he still managed to look attractive while doing so. This is absolutely unfair!"

"With eyes like the abyss, hair like platinum, and a smile both mischievous and kind, Ithaqua is someone even Aphrodite can't help but adore."

"I didn't think I'd ever fall in love at first sight, but when it's someone with witty humor, the most charming laugh, and heartwarming nature, how could I not? Ithaqua is akin to what love-struck poets would write sonnets about."

Ithaqua is drowning in affection, the night sky within his hands suffocating him with each earnest whisper of love. Like prayers upon the wind, sweet and sincere and so very innocent, they tell him every word of worship that had passed through your mind, forming sentences upon sentences on delicate paper.

His shoulders shake and shiver, his hands crumpling paper despite his best efforts. Tears fall with renewed vigor, as though the ones he'd shed when you left hadn't happened at all. The ache in his chest hurts in a way he never thought possible, burning yet cold, numb yet all too much.

For the third time in his life, Ithaqua feels his heart shatter.

He begs and he pleads under his breath, sobs breaking through his words while one hand clutches where his heart should be. Ithaqua grits his teeth as he thinks of all that could've been, of all that had happened, the pain he'd given to both you and him when it could've been love instead.

Throughout his breakdown, Ithaqua can't help but wonder if, instead of taking matters into his own hands, instead of not giving you a choice, instead of sabotaging himself, if he had loved you earnestly as himself, unabashedly, could things have been different? If he had asked you to stay, if he threw away his pride and asked like a priest on their knees, begging at the altar, could you have loved him now as he loves you?

Paper Stars (Ithaqua×Reader)

AN: Posting this along with my intro since I feel bad for anyone that gets jebaited thinking I was uploading lol This was originally going to be more painful, but then I listened to Laufey's "I Wish You Love" and it got kinda better, kinda worse. Enjoy! Word count: 2.0k words Summary: You filled bottles and jars with stars of all shapes and sizes. Some were perfect, others a little wonky. Regardless of how they came out, you placed them in containers that decorate your room. No matter how long you stay in this dreadful place, these stars will remain proof of your hopes, dreams, and love. They'll remain even after you are long gone.

Even before you entered the manor, you had a habit of making paper stars. Your friends, ones you've long forgotten the names of yet remember warmly, had claimed that if you filled a jar with a thousand paper stars, you'd be granted a wish. You've long grown out of such beliefs, or so you claim, but you still make these delicate stars anyway. They give you comfort, if nothing else. However, the biggest contributor to your growing collection of stars was Ithaqua.

It wasn't that he was making too many. In fact, his claws tore the thin paper far too often for most of them to survive. The true reason was that, as foolish as it was, you had started hoping beyond all hope that, perhaps, if you made a thousand jars of a thousand paper stars, you would have a chance to be loved back by him.

Since a long time ago, since he first came to the manor, you had loved him. Your first few jars of stars could tell all about it. You'd write confessions and compliments, snippets of stories, anything and everything, onto tiny slips of paper. These would later be turned into paper stars, filling jar after jar in a mesmerizing mix of colors. In shades of pink, white, and purple, the stars grew and grew as years passed and your love stayed true.

Of course, as time tends to do, it changes you. The luster of love dulled to let you see Ithaqua as himself, and even then, you loved him. The way he'd lean on you when he was tired, the way his face scrunched up when he yawned, even the way he'd purposely annoy you by putting your favorite snacks on the tallest shelves. You loved him for his faults, and you loved him for his virtues. No matter what you learned about him, he was still perfect in your eyes.

Well, perhaps perfect isn't the right word. You know Ithaqua isn't innocent, you know he isn't completely good. He's vengeful, he's cunning, he's someone with more spite in his body than good in his soul. He is a hunter, deadly as a blade and cold as night. He laughs when he chases and he kills without mercy.

Even so, when Ithaqua holds you gently, brushing his thumb over your cheek as he wraps your wounds, murmuring apologies like prayers, you can't see him as a monster.

He isn't perfect, but he is Ithaqua. That is enough for you.

More time slips by like sand through your fingers, decades going by with seemingly no end. Your stars are not pink, white, and purple anymore, but red, orange, and green. Your love has grown a startling amount, resulting in a growing pile of star filled bottles and jars. They clutter your closet floor, taking up almost all the space inside. You think you may have made around six hundred or so, most likely more. Even so, you know there will be more, this time filled with daydreams and flustered hopes.

Your relationship with Ithaqua is closer than ever. He is your other half, your shadow, always there and ready to talk. You know him better than anyone else, just as he knows you. At this point, the whole manor is convinced you're dating each other in every way but in name. You flush whenever they say so, quickly saying you two are only friends.

"For now." They say.

'For now.' You think.

With how many years have passed, you'd think you would've gained the courage to confess to Ithaqua. Sadly, the heart is as cowardly as it is powerful. Your chest feels like it'll burst whenever you try to confess, lungs begging for air even without restrictions. Every time you try, anxiety rips the words away from you, causing you to fumble like an idiot in front of him.

It might have been a blessing that the words never had a chance to form. 

Later, when you were coming to visit him on the hunter side, you heard him talking to someone. You weren't one to eavesdrop, respectful of others' privacy, but you couldn't help but listen when you heard your name come up.

"It's painfully obvious they love you. Why don't you just confess already?"

"I can't do that. Confessing to someone I can't love is not right."

At that moment, you felt your heart shatter.

That day, you stayed in your room. You wanted to cry, scream, break something, do anything, but as always, you could only do nothing. You were curled up on your bed, incapable of doing much other than wonder why. Why can't he love you? Why won't he love you? Why, why, why, why, why?

You had gotten overconfident, you guessed. With how Ithaqua treated you so differently from the rest, so lovingly, you had assumed he'd felt the same as you did. At the very least, you had hoped he'd have some romantic interest in you. Was it presumptuous? Was it arrogant? Was it wrong for you to have hoped that he would love you back after all these years? Perhaps it was, perhaps it wasn't. Regardless, the truth lay bare before your eyes now, and there was nothing you could do but accept it.

It took you a week to get out of your slump, leaving many worried. You couldn't bother to care, trying to reassure everyone quickly that you were fine despite having been broken not long ago. You had picked up the fragments of who you were and built yourself anew. Fragile, yet stronger than ever. You could only be glad the manor had been kind enough not to give you any matches during this time.

Time marches on, unrelenting as the push and pull of the waves. Your stars turned blue, black, and yellow, filled with wishful thinking and occasional pleads. Nine hundred and ninety-nine bottles and jars gathered within your room, filling your closet, shelves, and even the bottom of your bed. Even though you knew it was useless, that your love was unrequited and that Ithaqua would never love you, the heart is a cruel, stubborn little thing.

Your heart never gave up on Ithaqua, even though your mind had long acknowledged he'd never be yours.

You were fine with that. Ithaqua had no obligation to you, and it was wrong of you to believe he would love you. It was completely fine for you to love him, but it wasn't okay for you to expect him to love you in the same way. Such thoughts would only hurt you when hit with reality. You'd suffered through it once, you didn't need to do so again.

You continued being friends with him, acting completely normal. Nothing changed, but that was fine with you. Keeping what you had now was more than enough. You kept trying to convince yourself that was true, but it felt like thorns were wrapping around your heart, flowers blooming painfully between your ribs.

"You love him!" Your heart cries.

"But he doesn't love me." You whisper back.

Distance would be the only way to heal you, and the best opportunity for it drops right onto your desk. A letter, stamped and sealed just like the one that invited you to the manor. It tells you that you may leave, that your reward for participating in the game would be given and that you were free.

You rush out of your room to find your fellow survivors cheering, crying, hugging, and laughing. After so many years stuck in the manor, you were finally able to leave. You were finally getting your rewards. 

It felt like a dream.

Happy beyond all reason, you run to the hunter's manor, finding that no celebrations were occurring. It quickly dawns on you that most of these people will not leave- couldn't. Most were dead, others were immortal, while some were people who simply couldn't be returned to society. Regardless, it seemed most of the hunters would never leave the manor, or would quietly fade away into the afterlife.

Ithaqua notices you from his corner of the room. He beckons you closer, so you walk towards him. Sitting yourself comfortably next to him, you explain the situation. He listens, humming occasionally as you show him the letter. Finally, he smiles.

"I'm happy for you."

It's simple, but sweet. You know he means it, but you kind of wish he didn't. After all, this had been your last hope, the last chance for him to show that he felt anything for you. 

You set yourself up for disappointment once more, hoping for love that he would never give.

So, you smile, nod, and say you'll be packing your things. You ignore the tears that blur your vision, the looks of pity Mary and Joseph give you, running away with a smile on your face as if truly excited to leave.

You had hoped he'd ask you to stay.

You had hoped he'd at least say that you were important to him, even as just a friend.

Perhaps even that was too much to expect.

Your love is like the moon, brilliant, beautiful, and powerful. However, in the face of almost complete apathy, of the unending night that shrouds you, what could you do?

Luggage isn't too much of an issue for you, especially considering you never brought much to the manor and never bought much either. The only things left were your paper stars.

You held the last jar, the thousandth one. You had finally completed your goal. However, there was no wish you could think of for yourself. You gained your freedom, your reward from the manor, and now, gave up completely on Ithaqua. There was nothing you desired.

Turning to face your closet, your grip on the jar tightens. You see the thousands, millions of stars staring back at you, a galaxy of color, filled with so much love and joy. It's almost painful to see it all, the proof of your existence within this manor, the proof of your love, shoved in a closet and never to be seen again.

You turn to your desk, glancing at the other jars that decorate it. You can see the imperfections on some of the stars, one crinkled far too much, another far too big. You remember all the time and effort that went into them, the words you had written, the feelings that went through you as you made them. It washes over you like a wave, and you let it.

Then, finally, you smile.

"I wish him love."

He deserves it. He deserves to be loved selflessly, in a way you probably couldn't offer him. He deserves to be held when it's cold, tenderly cared for when sick, shared jokes with sincerity, and above all else, happy.

So, carrying your luggage bag and a smile, you meet Ithaqua at the hunters manor. You place the jar of paper stars in his hands, eyes full of adoration as you let him go in your heart.

"Farewell, Ithaqua. I'm glad to have met you. Thank you for letting me get to know you and love you. I will never forget you."

You squeeze his hands around the jar, the pain in your chest bittersweet. You let go, pulling back and waving as you leave. He watches for a long time, even after you've long left.

Eventually, he lets his legs give out from under him. He lets his heart ache as he opens the jar to let the stars fall into his hands. Ithaqua cradles them like they're the most precious things in the world, an irreplaceable treasure that was worth more than his life.

He lets his shoulders shake, curling in on himself as he sobs. Tears fall from his eyes as his heart rips itself apart, only getting worse as he sees writing on a star. He unravels it slowly, carefully, as if it'll tear with even the slightest bit of pressure. His efforts are for naught, as in the end, his tears wet the paper and destroy the writing, ink smudging as his efforts to return it to normal shred the thin paper. Still, he remembers vividly the words written on it. He'll feel it forever seared into his heart and soul.

hi! i see from your profile the requests are open, i hope i didnt mistook it as other type of request because i wanted to request ithaqua x reader, where they were in duo hunters match. the reader was kiting the other hunter and when they were in between pallet, the reader didnt know ithaqua was behind them because of the heartbeat. when the reader was avoiding the other hunter to get in their side, ithaqua hit them from behind making the reader knocked down. the reader felt betrayal and they were upset because of the sudden jump scare by ithaqua

you can ignore this request if you want to! i dont want to make you uncomfortable, and btw i love your work! hope you have a nice day (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤

AN: Hello anon! My requests are indeed open for writing, so don't worry. I was actually quite surprised since I've never gotten a request before, not that that's a bad thing. I am working on an intro currently so that I can clear up any confusion in the future. Thank you for requesting, writing for Ithaqua is always a pleasure!  Word count: 1.2k words Summary: You're tired, having kited since the beginning of this god forsaken duo hunters match. Maybe that's why when Ithaqua takes you by surprise, the betrayal stings more so than ever before.

Your heart beat out of your chest, adrenaline and the magic of the manor causing it to go into overdrive. Though your lungs burned and your limbs ached, you didn't dare to stop. Grace, however kind and sweet she can be outside of the game, was the embodiment of a menace during matches. Her abilities made it difficult to kite or rescue, which wasn't exactly favorable for you nor your teammates. 

What made matters worse was that this was a duo hunters match. These matches weren't exactly the best considering how chaotic it could get. Sometimes the survivors won by a landslide, other times the hunters completely decimated everyone. It was a time where it felt like no one knew what was happening.

You had hoped you'd be lucky enough to not stand out, decoding until either the gates were opened or the dungeon was unlocked. Sadly, you ended up being chased quite early on, unable to hide when you were caught smack dab in the middle of Moonlit River Park. 

When you saw the silhouette of Grace close by, you couldn't help but let out a heavy sigh as you started running. Why did you have to be the first kiter?

Throughout your kite, a few ciphers popped, so you at least knew you were doing well. You still don't know who the other hunter is, but you count that as a blessing. Having one hunter chase you is one thing, but two? You know that's a strategy, but not one you like seeing as you're the one facing it.

You try to catch your breath as you weave through the tent, slamming a pallet as you heave. You don't know how Patricia and the other kiters do it. They kite for what seems like hours on end without even seeming the least bit exhausted. Maybe you should take up William's offer to train with him. You aren't out of shape, but if you're dragged into any more duo hunter matches, you're gonna need that extra training.

Even with your legs straining to get you just a bit farther away from Grace, it seemed like you were inevitably going down soon. It frustrated you a bit, even if it was to be expected. It wasn't like you hadn't been doing well, you maintained a good kite that let your teammates decode in relative peace. However, you knew once you went down, you were probably not getting out of this match alive.

Tired, disoriented, and maybe a bit spiteful, you let a burst of energy push you to another pallet. You knew that as long as you got this singular pallet stun, you'd probably be able to at least make it to the end game of this match. The cipher was almost primed, and you were just about at your limit.

This might simply be exacerbating your demise, but you were going to do it anyway. A chance at getting out was better than nothing, and it was a risk you were willing to take.

It was all perfectly timed.

In a flurry of movement, Grace grunted in pain as the pallet slammed over her head. Though it didn't feel nice to hurt her, you knew it had to be done. Regardless, you didn't have a chance to feel guilty for not a moment later, your body flared in pain as you went down. With your focus having been on Grace entirely, you had failed to notice the presence of another hunter nearby.

Clutching your head in pain, you looked up with bleary eyes. Even in the state you're in, you know that figure anywhere. In that moment, in the depths of your heart, a fierce feeling of betrayal bubbled up.

You know that it's his job to hunt you. You know that it's your job to run from him. You know he hates this game as much as you do, yet even so, you can't help but hate him at this moment as you lay on the floor in pain.

The irrational feelings that rip apart your chest claw at your throat, begging you to let them out into spoken words. They promise to stab him with vengeance, inflicting upon him as much pain as he'd done unto you. You purse your lips to keep them down, lowering your eyes to the ground.

You could never do that to him.

Touched by the first snow of winter, he brings with him a chill known only on the coldest of mountains. His frost covered cape gives him a silhouette that makes him seem both fragile and dangerous, the embodiment of a glass canon. With what might as well be sickles as his shoes, he towers over most as he near silently approaches.

He is the whistle of the wind in frigid forests.

He is the shadows that lurk in the darkness cast by night.

He is the breeze that eases your heart in this place akin to Hell.

He is Ithaqua, and before he is a hunter, he is your friend. However betrayed you may feel, it isn't right for you to take it out on him when he never asked for the position he is in. 

He never asked to be a hunter, but you had chosen to be a survivor. 

So, even with your blood burning through your veins with liquid fire, you calm yourself. It may sting for you, but you knew it seared for him. Ithaqua claims to be a heartless monster, but you know better than anyone else he is anything but.

You let him pick you up as the last cipher pops, a little too late to be of any help to you. You roll your eyes as the echoes of "Sorry..." flood your mind. You wish you could turn the quick messages off, but for now, all you can do is echo back "Leave me!"

Having accepted your fate, you let yourself dangle from the balloons, completely limp. You try to think on the bright side, think about how, at the very least, Ithaqua and Grace will get some points out of this. You had pretty much 7 cipher kited Grace, so this was a fair trade off, more like a rip off really. Besides, even if you're sent back via rocket chair, you still get a lot of points too.

Absorbed in your thoughts, you barely realize that Ithaqua still hasn't chaired you after a considerable amount of time. Confused, you lift your head to realize he's taking you to the gate.

It's odd, really, how at that moment, you can't help but wish he'd simply chaired you instead. It would've given a bit more reason to your feelings, validated the stinging betrayal and conflicted hate. Instead, all that's left is bitter guilt.

Ithaqua has never been one to follow the rules of the manor, even at his own expense. As such, he had never considered downing you for any reason beyond setting you free.

You struggle, and while Ithaqua is completely and utterly confused, he still lets you go. You land on your feet as he quickly regains his bearings, the forced animation the game puts him through ending. For a moment, the two of you simply stare at each other.

You wonder if he understands. 

The anger, the guilt, the pain, the betrayal.

The way your weary heart pushes and pulls with every match the manor forces you two into.

You think he does- no, you're sure he does. You know cause as you smile at him, eyes crinkling at the corners, he looks like he's been struck.

You look at Ithaqua with affection and determination, your life fading out of the match as you surrender. 

He offered you mercy.

You offer it right back.