Elliot Dating HCs [Takes place on WAAPP, NOT Forsaken]
Chance Dating HCs [Takes place before AND during Forsaken'd]
Cruel King Dating HCs [Before and during the ice dagger voices]
Inbox Req by Silly l1z-z [its a surprise....]
I ALSO?? Might start writing for Verity too, the lil ball of yellow's all i've been obsessing about lately, giggling. Though I might start AFTER I've finished with the following four :3
Even more so, if ever I get requests too. Feel free to send anything, and I'll do my best to write them ^o^
May i request Mafioso being an absolute simp for a female reader who is MUCH taller than him( i'm talking.he barely reaches up to her waist.)
Looking Up at the Love of His Life
Author's Note: You ask, and I shall serve :D I hope this exceeded the expectations. I'm unsure if you meant HCs or an actual x reader fic, so I decided to do both ^^
Summary: Mafioso / Don Sonnellino with a REALLY tall fem partner <3
TW: None. Established relationship between Mafioso and Reader. Reader is referred as she/her and they/them
⊹♡ IDC WHAT YA'LL SAY, LALALALA. You cannot convince me this man DOESN'T absolutely adore the fact that his partner is towering over him.
⊹♡ The first time she absentmindedly rested her arm on top of his head while talking to someone?
⊹♡ He had to pretend nothing happened.
⊹♡ Meanwhile internally? "OUHHHH I love my tall wife."
⊹♡ Mafioso's pretty much the type of guy who absolutely has zero insecurity about the height difference. And if anything, he BRAGS about it.
"Oh my wife? Yeah she's taller than me. What about it." cue awkward silence because everyone expected him to be embarrassed.
⊹♡ He LOVES when you'd bend down to kiss him. Like he would absolutely melt every single time no matter who's watching.
⊹♡ EVEN MORE SO IF THEY'D TAKE HIS HAT OFF TO KISS THE TOP OF HIS HEAD. That's a privilege only his tall spouse can do.
⊹♡ I lowkey feel like he'd secretly enjoys asking her to grab things from high shelves. Not because he can call someone else, but rather he just likes watching her effortlessly reach things for him.
⊹♡ This too, if you ever pick him up? he's DONE for. He immediately wraps an arm around her shoulders so he doesn't accidentally look startled.
⊹♡ Especially if she's strong enough to bridal carry him, his soul would leave his body.
While the goons ARE supportive, they'd have to make fun of their boss from time to time. Caporegime would have to look away, Consigliere would try not to laugh, while Soldier and Contractee would place bets on how quick Mafioso would be all giddy in your hands.
⊹♡ Now in terms of height, especially if fem reader is plus size girly? He'd absolutely ADORE wearing her oversized jackets.
⊹♡ Like she could drape one over his shoulders when it's cold, or he'd take one of her sweaters/shirts when he's off of work and would be COMFORTABLE.
⊹♡ It'd prolly hang almost to his knees. But would he care? NO DAWG. If anything, he'd refuse to take it off.
⊹♡ In comparison, his clothes wouldn't fit you... yeah, no. You guys are gonna have to compromise when it comes to sharing clothes, IF EVER YKWIM? Maybe one that fits you but isn't too big on him as well.
⊹♡ Speaking of which, dancing together is adorable.
⊹♡ Mafioso would confidently take the lead… until he realizes you're a whole head and shoulders taller.
⊹♡ He doesn't mind it though, would tell you "Come here, cara". Then he'll stand on the slightest step or curb if one happens to be nearby just to kiss her more easily.
⊹♡ If ever there's no stool? He's happy to let her take the lead if ever.
⊹♡ Though if you don't know how to dance, then he'll teach you. No problem with that.
⊹♡ And if you don't want to dance? then that's okay. He's happy with just swaying side to side with you like this. Maybe even just stand around, hugging each other.
⊹♡ This is usually him having his arm around your waist, or around your hips. While your own arms are doing their best to wrap around his shoulders, giggling..
⊹♡ ANYWAYS !! Conversations or talks with Mafioso is always, if not mostly/usually, with him looking up at her while she's talking. The eye contact from down there absolutely destroys him.
⊹♡ "Oh but wouldn't his neck hurt-" He doesn't care. His wife is talking, just cause she's a whole Mafioso taller doesn't mean he won't look up at her >:(
⊹♡ All that's cute, sure. Mafioso loves you at the end of the day despite being taller.
⊹♡ Now what about the downsides of being tall?
⊹♡ Sure being tall is amazing and all, but its also a struggle come on. People tend to bully you for being a whole two-person height, not to mention you'd have to duck down to certain doorways just to get through.
⊹♡ Mafioso's not having any of that though xoxo
⊹♡ The first time his partner accidentally bumped her head on one of the doorframes in the Manor, Mafioso stopped EVERYTHING.
⊹♡ He asked if she was hurt, gently checked the spot she'd hit, and frowned the entire evening—not at her, but at the house itself.
⊹♡ Within that same week, he'd already hired workers to renovate the manor. Having to raise every doorway, archway, and ceiling in the rooms she frequented so she'd never have to duck or risk hitting her head again.
⊹♡ And if anyone questioned why such expensive renovations were suddenly necessary, he'd simply answer, "My partner should be comfortable in her own home."
⊹♡ Sure to everyone else it seemed excessive, but to him it was only natural. Why should the woman he loves have to shrink herself to fit the house when he could simply make the house fit her instead? ♡
⊹♡ That aside though, you know how I mentioned the bullying? Yeah no. People have made fun of her height for years—But Mafioso's having NONE of that.
⊹♡ The moment he notices someone making you uncomfortable? his entire demeanor changes; his voice stays calm, but there's an unmistakable edge that would make the other person fall silent.
⊹♡ He couldn't care less if people mocked him. Even then, who'd dare to mock the Don? No one, really. But insulting the woman he loves? that's another story entirely.
⊹♡ If someone laughs at their height difference, he'll simply smile and reply, "Yes, she's taller than me. I fail to see the problem." Later, when they're finally alone, he'll gently take her hands in his, look up at her with the softest expression imaginable.
⊹♡ Mafioso will NEVER fail to remind you that you're beautiful exactly as she is. If she ever apologizes for being so tall or admits she's insecure because of what others say, he'd immediately reassure her, telling her she has nothing to apologize for and that he loves every single inch of her.
⊹♡ To him, your height isn't something strange or embarrassing—it's just another part of the woman who completely stole his heart, and he'll happily spend the rest of his life making sure she never doubts that again. ♡
"You've been hearing those things for a long time, haven't you?" Mafioso asked quietly. When you hesitated before answering, he already knew.
"I'm used to it," you hummed with a small shrug. "People always have something to say. Whether if it's that I'm too tall, or if we're an odd couple..." You let out a laugh that didn't quite sound genuine. "Sometimes I wonder if they'd stop staring if I were shorter." Now THAT made Mafioso frowned almost immediately. Stepping closer until he rested his forehead lightly against your waist, he wrapped his arms around you without a hint of hesitation. "Then they would simply find something else to criticize," he replied. "People who wish to judge others rarely need a reason."
He leaned back just enough to meet your eyes, the affection in his own impossible to miss. "But listen to me." His voice was soft, but unwavering. "I love you exactly as you are. I love that I have to tilt my head to look at you. I love reaching for your hand, even if it's a little higher than everyone else's. I love standing beside you, walking beside you, and loving you exactly the way you were made." A small smile tugged at his lips. "Amor Mio.." He whispered, taking your hands within his own. Pressing a kiss on each knuckle with tenderness and love only reserved for you. "If the entire world insists on seeing your height as something to mock, then let them be wrong. To me, it's one of the countless things that makes me love you."
You felt your eyes begin to water before you could stop them. Mafioso looked up at you, the ever loving smile still present on his face as he intertwined your hands together. "Cara mia, I never want you to apologize for taking up space," he whispered. "You don't need to make yourself smaller to deserve love, and you certainly don't need to change for me." He adjusted, face leaning onto your palms. His smile changing into another, one so hopelessly devoted for you. "No matter how tall you are, no matter how many people stare or laugh..." He pressed a tender kiss against your palm as he nuzzled his cheek onto it. "...I'll spend the rest of my life looking up at the woman I love, and I'll consider myself the luckiest man alive for it."
⊹♡ At the end of the day, the world may see you as someone "too tall"
⊹♡ But Mafioso? He simply sees the woman he fell hopelessly in love with.
⊹♡ And Every extra inch just means there's more of you for him to admire. ♡
LMFAOO even I forgot I requested but I loved it lots!! Thank you!! <3
YIPPPIIIII I'M HAPPY TO KNOW NASJDKSADS It also felt a little too fluffy for me so I sprinkled in a bit of angst, especially w what I heard had happened on CH5
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'M ALIVE AGAIN HOLYYYYYY. This was a request 2-3 months ago by @queenofwerewolves. I don't have the request anymore, but it was something along the lines of Werewolf GR13F3R/Brad x Reader having a picnic? I'm really sorry this took so long to be posted TT So much has been happening on my side that I had to stop writing for a while. I do hope this met the expectations though. Brad is a little, if not more, OOC here so I apologize (it's been a few since I'm on blocktales).
SUMMARY: A nice picnic under the moonlight with GR13FER / Brad Thaniyel. [Werewolf! Brad x Reader]
TW/CW: UHM UHM A BIT OF ANGST? but also fluff?? Brad's a little OOC as I've forgotten how to write him. (time to relearn).
NOTE: Reader is preferred as "You". No gender is mentioned, (if there is, I apologize in advance). I also added in a bit of my own image/depiction of Brad. I HAVEN'T FINISHED CH5, BUUUT I'll still mention it BRIEFLY as I know he was there along w Mayor Thaniyel.
The cool night air of the forest was still, except for the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant, low hum of the wind in the forest of Turitopulis. You sat on a plaid blanket by the lake, smoothing out the wrinkles, surrounded by a spread of sandwiches, snacks, and a whole pack of Witches Brew & Bloxies.
It was a perfect night for a picnic. If a little unconventional.
A pair of footsteps made you look up. Emerging from the corner was Brad. Or, well, mostly Brad. Tonight was a full moon, and his usual edgy frame was replaced by a towering, slightly fur-covered werewolf form. His ears twitched, a fluffy tail swished behind him, and his sharp claws gripped a familiar iron crowbar, though he lowered it from his shoulder the moment he saw you.
Even as a creature of the night, some things never changed. He was still wearing his tattered jacket despite the leaves peaking through his arms. A remnant, or after affects per say, from the Venomshank, though his eyes still glowed with that familiar, chaotic energy.
"Y0U ACTUALLY SH0W3D UP," he rumbled, his voice a deep growl that vibrated in his chest. Despite the intimidating sound, he looked entirely caught off guard, yet that didn't stop the smug smile that formed on his face. He crossed his arms, trying to look cool. "I TH0UGHT Y0U W3R3 JUK1NG M3."
"I told you I’d be here," you shrugged with a smile before patting the empty spot on the blanket next to you. "Come sit down before the food gets cold."
Brad huffed, a puff of warm air escape from his nose. He trudged over, feet sinking into the grass, and awkwardly managed to sit cross-legged on the blanket. For a guy who spent all his time trying to act like a ruthless, unbothered guy, he looked incredibly flustered. His tail gave a faint, involuntary thump against the ground.
"TH1S 1S CR1NG3," he muttered, looking away as a dark flush crept under his gray fur. "W3’R3 L1T3RALLY S1TT1NG IN TH3 D1RT L1K3 A COUPL3 0F N00BS."
"It's called a picnic, Brad," you laughed, handing him an opened can of witches brew.
He took it carefully, with a hum before looking away. He took a small drink, trying to hide the growing smile on his lips before his eyes lit up. "TH4NKS F0R C0M1NG, TH0UGH."
As the night went on, the awkwardness melted away under the bright, silver glow of the moon. It was often unusual to meet Brad anywhere, save for the part where you use his call card using battles. Other than that, you barely saw the man. At least not until recently with what happened in The Heights involving both Cassie and Telamon.
Brad leaned back on his elbows, looking up at the sky. The moonlight caught the silver tips of his fur, making him look almost peaceful—a rare sight for someone usually so chaotic and ready to fight alongside you.
You leaned in closer, your shoulder brushing against his own. Brad stiffened for a fraction of a second, his ears pinning back in surprise, before he slowly relaxed. With a soft grunt, he adjusted his position to lean onto his right hand as his left arm draped around your shoulders, pulling you against his side. He was incredibly warm, a perfect shield against the chilly night breeze.
"ARE YOU OKAY?" he asked quietly, his usual leetspeak cadence slowing down. He looked down at you, his red eyes searching yours. "W1TH WH4T H4PP3N3D, I M3AN."
You reached up, gently placing a hand on his own around your shoulder, fiddling with the sleeve of his jacket. "Can't really say I made it through uninjured. But I have the Windforce now, and I'm okay." Your fingers flexed, shaking a bit before relaxing.
His tail started thumping against the grass again, much faster this time. He quickly looked away, clearing his throat to try and think of a response.
"WH4T3V3R. Y0U’R3 JU5T LUCKY L1K3 TH4T." he mumbled, his grip tightening just a bit around you, pulling you closer into the warmth. "0TH3RW1S3, 1 W0ULD H4V3 C0M3 4FT3R Y0U AND B34T Y0U MYS3LF."
His statement came off jokingly harsh, but you knew yourself that he would come running in if it meant saving you from harm's way. Afterall, you saved him. You saved his dad. Wouldn't it be unfair and cruel if he can't do the same? the thought of you dying without help just seemed wrong.
He had already succumbed once before, his mind completely overwritten by the toxic malice of the Venomshank. He knew exactly what it felt like to lose the driver's seat of his own body to a single corrupting force. But for you, the stakes were infinitely worse. The lingering remnants of the bubonic plant still echoed in the back of his mind.
If a single sword could break him, he was scared to know what it was like for you dealing against five separate minds vying for control.
Slowly, deliberately, you reached up and shifted your position against his side. His left arm was still draped over your shoulder, heavy and frozen with anxiety. You brought your hand up to meet his, gently sliding your fingers between his until your palm rested firmly against his own.
You squeezed his hand. A silent, grounding anchor in the middle of his internal storm. It was a quiet promise that you weren't going anywhere, and that for right now, you hope it was enough. Your presence beside him was enough. Under the steady glow of the moonlight, you felt the rigid muscles in his arm finally begin to give way, his fingers tightening around yours in a desperate, silent grasp.
A low grumble left his lips, resting his head atop of yours, as you leaned against his chest, listening to the steady, rhythmic thumping of his heart beneath the moonlight.
His worries can wait for another day; right now, he just wanted to tune it all out. The future's going to be messy sure, but your hand was in his right now, and you were still here. And that's all that matters.
He leaned into you a little more, tightened his grip, and decided to just enjoy the moment while it lasted.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is Forsaken Mafioso. Don Sonnellino. I also don't support anything from Forsaken nor the Devs themselves. This is all intended to be for fun and giggles.
SUMMARY: Headcannons as to what He's like with a partner. This is all for fun!
TW: Established relationship, Headcannons, Swearing.
⊹♡ this guy is LOVING. Like, LOVING LOVING. There's not a single day where he would not shower you with affection, even if it's just a single drop of it.
⊹♡ Holding hands is definitely, heavily in this list. He would happily hold his partner's hand if they want to while he's doing paperwork.
⊹♡ He would be in the middle of a meeting, but if his partner wants a drop of his attention/affection yet he can't provide it? He'd do so through hand holding while his thumb strokes the back of their hand.
⊹♡ ROMANTIC AJSKDSAJKDHASKDHSA
⊹♡ THIS MAN.. THIS MAN WOULD SHOWER YOU WITH ROSESSSSS
⊹♡ He would send his partner both gifts and roses every week. Personally too. Though if he ever ends up being busy that day due to debt work? then he'd have one of his goons send them to his partner. With an attached letter of apology as well, to explain why he couldn't do it personally. It's mostly either Contractee or Soldier whom will be on the job though considering Caporegime and Consigliere tends to be busy;;
⊹♡ And if ever his partner prefers a certain type of flower instead of roses? no worries then, he'll happily replace the roses and send those instead :D
⊹♡ Would add in extra treats such as your favorite drink or snack from time to time. ESPECIALLY if his partner was a woman on her period.
⊹♡ Sure he may be busy, but if his partner was suffering with cramps due to her period and he can't be there? The least he could do is shower her with her favorite chocolate, snacks, desserts and/or drink.
⊹♡ Though if you want homecooked meals instead then that's fine as well, he won't mind. He can't really go home in the middle of the day though, so he'd most likely cook your favorite dinner before cuddling with you in bed :D
⊹♡ ANYWAYS, SO LIKE.. YOU CANNOT N O T CONVINCE ME: That this man would NOT not take his partner on a date.
⊹♡ He'd most likely have them with his partner every Friday evening.
⊹♡ Like, a long week of debt collecting, especially when the debt collector is being a fucking pain in the ass? (coughs, Chance). And ending that week with a date w/ his partner? YES SIR.
⊹♡ He would always reserve a best place for the both of you. Only the best for the huzz duh.
⊹♡ It would preferably somewhere you'd love: A cafe, a restaurant with a balcony that has a wonderous view, if not then maybe a hush, quiet corner cafe.
⊹♡ Though if you're someone who prefers staying at home, then that's alright with him too, so long as you're both together :D
⊹♡ He'll even have his boys prepare the romantic setting for the both of you to have as a romantic date, in the kitchen of the Sonellino manor.
⊹♡ He'll come home early as well, if that's the case, just so he can personally cook your favorite food, and even bake you your favorite dessert (if you have any).
⊹♡ If his partner seems to particularly have a bad day/week at that time, you bet that he's going to be coming home with a fresh bouquet of roses/your favorite flower along with your favorite treats.
⊹♡ Cleaning up and left over work can wait until tomorrow morning, he wants to prioritize you first.
⊹♡ I think you get the gist.
⊹♡ All in all, despite being feared and intimidated for being the head of the Mafia, this man is absolutely loving when it comes to his partner.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: HHIII. IM ALIVE OH MY GOD. I've gotten too busy these days TT I am unsure if some people have done some of the headcannons I have, but if so, please left me know;;
HELLO OMG.. YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW HAPPY MUCH YOUR FORSAKEN X VICTOR! READER MADE ME AS AN EX-IDV PLAYER SSSHSHSHSJSJHDJSJD
The way you described how each relationship would work and how trust would be built through it? CHEFS KISS. The fact that you mentioned how Taph and Victor!Reader would be a healthy relationship than whatever Victor and Aesop had caught me so off guard cause I was NOT expecting that.
All in all, I genuinely love that one-shot sm;; and I'll be sticking to your page like GLUE, SO YOU'LL NEVER SCRAPE ME OFF NO MATTER HOW HARD YOU TRY /j (starts chewing on your walls)
NO PLS, MY FAVORITE POSTERS ARE HANGING ON THESE WALLS </3
But now fr, this means so much to me- I checked out your blog and read the Jane Doe fic, IT WAS SO GOOD and the fact that you enjoyed my writing???!! Couldn't be happier, I really like trying to put parts of the lore of the character reader is being based on. I'll def be checking out your posts💗💗 (also, the way you draw is so yummy, I'll always be leaving ur page with a suspicious art shaped lump in my throat)
Also PLEASE. I genuinely love how you add tidbits of crumb (and i'm eating it whole, even the plate.) ALSO NO.. NOT MY ART, BUT... I'll accept it in return for eating your walls
✎ ❝No matter how, where or when; I'll fall in love with you again❞ ♡*.✧
Please, please. Do not upload or steal my writings. I've worked hard in making these let alone properly forming it. I'd appreciate it if you ask for permission before going ahead and publishing my works with credits.
pt. 2 of jane doe x john doe "I will fall in love with you again.
Other socials this was uploaded on; @MichikoVio_ on wattpad :]
"You look just as charming as the day you left," Jane whispered, the words barely escaping her lips like a fragile sigh carried by the wind. Her voice trembled with both tenderness and fear, brittle under the weight of memories and sorrow. She looked down at John—no, not John. Not entirely.
The man before her was a grotesque echo of who he used to be. whose uncorrupted hand had her suspended by the neck, pinned with unrelenting strength against the cracked, blood-streaked wall.
His grip was iron. Cold. Steady. But his corrupted hand—taken over by the infection that had torn through his body and mind, which had warped beyond recognition—hovered menacingly at her side, twitching with the promise of violence. The corruption had not only ravaged his flesh—it had poisoned his mind. But she saw something else behind those dead, storm-filled eyes. A flicker. A shadow of the man he used to be.
Jane's eyes, wide with tears, remained locked on his face. Beneath the grime, the blood, the shadows—she still saw him. Somewhere in that storm of rage and confusion, her John was buried. She had to believe that.
"I will fall in love with you," Jane choked out, voice shaking as her trembling hands reached up, cupping his face, "over and over again..." her thumbs brushed against his skin—the warm side—longing to remember, to feel, to anchor him.
"I don't care how, where, or when.." she breathed, her vision blurring further as tears streamed freely down her cheeks, her chest beginning to tighten. "No matter how long it's been... you're mine, John!" she cried out, her voice cracking with emotion, tears cascading freely down her face like a dam broken.
The desperation in her voice was like thunder. Her arms trembled, muscles weak from lack of oxygen, but she held on. Her vision blurred, not just from sorrow, but from the sheer overwhelming ache of holding on to a ghost in a living shell.
"I don't care if you're not the same person," she continued, her words trembling like glass, ready to shatter. "You're always my husband. I've been waiting—!" Her voice hitched, a sob catching in her throat. She was cut off abruptly as his grip tightened, like a vice of iron, pushing her deeper into the wall, crushing the air from her lungs, slamming her harder against the concrete wall with a cruel, unnatural strength.
Pain shot through her spine, sharp and unrelenting. Her head thumped against the wall. A growl rumbled from John—deep, animalistic, full of fury and confusion.She coughed out a breath, voice hoarse.
"Waiting... waiting—!" she cried again, barely coherent through the strain, tears mixing with blood now trickling from her temple. Her fingers clawed at his wrist, but he was immovable. Her arms felt like they weighed a thousand pounds.
Her skin turned pale, lips tinged with blue, but she forced her mouth open again."I've been waiting—John!" she cried, hoarsely, nearly breathless. Her voice cracked into a raw whisper. "Please... come back to me..."Her hands clawed weakly at his wrist, trying to pry his fingers away, but it was useless.
Her strength was fading, her chest heaving desperately for air that would not come.His corrupted hand twitching violently now, knuckles popping, claws flexing, as if torn between tearing her apart or pulling her closer. Something inside him warred—rage and remembrance clashing in the void of his fractured soul.
She gasped, her voice barely a whisper now. "John... I've waited..."Her body was yanked and slammed again, like a rag doll caught in a storm. But her spirit remained, her heart stubbornly refusing to abandon him. "I waited—!" she cried again, though the word barely passed her lips, broken by the strain and the tightening noose of his hand.
His eyes—once hollow—flickered. Something cracked behind them. A flash of memory: her smile in the morning sun, her laugh echoing in the kitchen, the way she used to whisper "I love you" as if it were a promise etched into the stars.
Jane's hand, trembling and bruised, reached up again—this time slower, softer—as if reaching for a dream. Her fingers brushed against his cheek one last time. His skin was warm. Familiar.
"I've been... waiting..." she whispered. Her voice was almost gone now, the light in her eyes dimming.A long silence fell between them as her limbs slowly lost strength. Jane's hands, now weak and barely responsive, reached up once more.
She traced her fingertips along his jawline. It was a touch filled not with fear, but love. Her lips curved into a small, tear-soaked smile as she whispered, "For you..." her body hung limp in his hold, her final breath slipping through her lips like a prayer.
Then her eyes fluttered shut, and she was still.
John stood frozen, her body in his arms. But something was wrong—terribly wrong. The satisfaction, the twisted joy that killing brought him since the corruption took hold, wasn't there. Not even the numbness. Instead, it came like a wave—slow, suffocating, and agonizing.
Pain.
It bloomed in his chest like a black sun, growing larger and heavier with every breath he didn't know he could still feel. His hand trembled—both hands. The corrupted one, so used to violence, fell slack by his side.
He looked at her face—serene, peaceful, and radiant even in death—and it broke him in ways that blade or bullet never could.
There was no corruption nor screams of triumph. No rush of the usual twisted pleasure. Not the joy of killing that the corruption once fed him. No... instead, it was like the earth itself cracked beneath his feet.
He loosened his grip.
Her body slumped into his arms, weightless and warm. Too warm. Too soft. Too real.
His knees gave out beneath him as he sank to the floor, cradling her broken frame against his chest. His arms—both corrupted and slightly pure—wrapped around her like a man trying to hold onto something already slipping away.
"Jane..." he whispered– he tried to, at least. His voice was gravelly and unfamiliar, as if he had forgotten the sound of his own name let alone hers. "Jane...?"
But there was no answer.
He buried his face in her neck, inhaling the scent of blood and sweat and memories. The world around him fell into a haze. He trembled violently. Something inside him cracked, and from it poured a wave of anguish so immense it nearly choked him. The corruption that controlled him was relentlessly spiking up, the sounds of nothing but static coding was there to speak for his stead.
Then at long last, a long, hollow wail ripped from his throat—static, broken, and desperate. The beast inside recoiled, and for the first time, it felt small. Powerless. Silent.
Because for the first time in years, John remembered.
He remembered her laughter.He remembered how she would wait for him at the window when he came home.
He remembered the vows they made under the stars.
And now, all he had was the weight of her in his arms and the unbearable silence she left behind. A hollow cry tore from his throat, echoing through the desolate space like a wolf mourning the moon.
For the first time in what felt like centuries, John remembered what it meant to be human.
And it destroyed him.
Hey, Hello! My inbox is open for requests so feel free to fill that up with anything. Please stick to the basic DNI request criteria and just stay away from all the yucky stuff when requesting :]
What was she even supposed to do? To take it all as is?
There were no letters after the first few years. No body to bury. Just silence. Officials had said he was probably lost-like so many others-beneath rubble or beneath lies. She had waited. Hoped. Prayed. Not always believing he lived, but never believing he was truly gone. Not from her.
So she simply just couldn't.
Not when her heart would still beat to the rhythm of his love and memory.
Please, please. Do not upload or steal my writings. I've worked hard in making these let alone properly forming it. I'd appreciate it if you ask for permission before going ahead and publishing my works with credits.
Other socials this was uploaded on; @MichikoVio_ on wattpad :]
The shining light of the lantern had poured through the night. Its light providing minimal light within the darkness of the area. broken down walls and debris catching on dust motes that danced like fireflies in the air. The soft murmur of others, the soft crunching of grass could be heard from time to time as her fellow teammates were roaming around the area themselves, and the rhythmic hum of a generator nearby, fully activated as it worked its purpose. She stood still in the middle of it all, her fingers trembling slightly as she clutched the edges of her shawl.
The maps had not changed at all for the past few years she has been here.
The same broken buildings loomed high, throwing long shadows across the grassy floor, now dulled by time and countless footsteps she had walked past it. The same broken cracks lined the walls, worn smooth by the months— years that her fellow comrades had stayed. Even the glass house had slowly lost its meaning as time ticked faithfully, each second of the timer echoing through the area like a heartbeat. Everything seemed the same, yet not Jane.
She had changed.
Decades had passed. Years long since the announcement of her husband going missing. The letters from the police had stopped coming. His name and face had faded from the missing lists. Everyone whom she knew had told her to move on, to mourn, to forget. Yet how could she? How could she when the man she sought a future with for her whole life had suddenly disappeared? When the man she swore to spend her dying days with is nowhere to be found?
What was she even supposed to do? Just simply take it all as is?
Yet there were no letters after the first few years. No body to burry. Just silence. Robloxian officials had said he was just probably lost—like so many others—beneath rubble or beneath lies. She had waited. Hoped. Prayed. Not always believing he lived, but never believing he was truly gone. Not from her.
So she simply just couldn't.
Not when her heart would still beat to the rhythm of his love and memory.
Even after everything, the years of loneliness, she had never stopped being herself. Even when the cold and loneliness crept in her heart. Even with the grief felt like a weight strapped to her chest. She carried herself with grace, hair tied back neatly though the wind had loosened a few purple strands. Her hands trembled slightly, not from age but from something else—something sacred. A hope too fragile to name.
Now through it all, across from her in the middle of a survival chase, she couldn't help but glance away now that she's caught sight of his familiar gait.
He walked with a slight limp now. His other half seemed distorted and non-human from what she vaguely remembered. His hair, once soft and golden was now paired with this.. thick and dark coded substance, some even had gone silver at the temples. And his eyes—those were the same. Just.. tired, yet oozing with the glint of murder. Yet it was the same eyes that she fell in love with all those years ago.
Jane took a step forward, then another.
His figure remained paused mid-stride, frozen like a man glimpsing a ghost. His face had gone neutral, seemingly unsure of how to react—it held familiarity, seemingly as if he were slowly remembering who she was.
"Is it you?" her voice, akin to a whisper as she spoke out. Her tone was slightly cracked, brittle as parchment and thick with tears. "Have my prayers been answered?" She took a step forward, voice barely audible over the buzzing of the nearby generator as her voice cracked, tears already stinging her lashes.
The man before her stood still, uncertain, disbelieving.
"Is it really you standing there?" she wondered loudly, the words tumbling out of her like breath she'd been holding onto the past few years, decades if you will. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she stood on her spot, afraid that if she moved too quickly, he might vanish.
"Or am I dreaming once more?" she asked softly, voice catching in her throat. She reached out hesitantly, worried that if she might did so, he'd be another illusion—to disappear from her grasp the moment she'd touch him.
Her fingertips had grasped onto him, brushing the cloth of his chest. His warmth was real. The coarseness of the fabric. The slight tremble of his body as it reacted to her warmth.
"You look different.." she said, stepping back just enough to see him fully. "Your eyes.. they're tired" her voice so soft, as she stared at him. The man before her could only tilt his head in curiosity, smile slightly wavering—his coded infected arm had seem to react to the woman before him, slightly calming down just at the mere presence of her.
"Your frame is lighter," she continued, tracing the hollows beneath his cheekbones, the sharp lines of his tattered shirt had her catching a slight glimpse of his figure—his bod seemed to have disappeared, now replaced with slight masculine, yet thinner from what she remembered. "Your smile is torn.." her hand had rested onto his cheek, cupping the uninfected part of his face as his smile widened ever so slightly at her touch. He leaned in, words incoherent as if he were trying to speak, only to let out rough growls as his voice box refused to do so.
[This is a short story, poem that I made back then for a friend of mine. I've gotten into the Identity V fandom, and i've never really expected to be too into it, though here I am.]
``His Mother had brought light upon his "corpse", to have cherished him, shown him love. She was the reason as to why he had changed, to have done it all for her. Now he'll do it all for you.``
To Bring Light Back Into My Life [Ithaqua Norwell]
His mother. His mother was the reason why he had changed. His mother was the reason why he had become the man he was now. His mother was the reason why he was doing this in the first place. It was all for his mother.
Her sanity, now lost and drowned deep within the sea. Fallen due to the bowel of the Gods. Gods who had taken away his precious, loving mother away from him. The wretched person who proclaimed himself to be a "God". The wretched mortal who looked so alike him, who had a face like him, had taken away the love and warmth that he once felt from his mother.
The proclaimed "God" who had died in his hands. Now a mindless person, nothing but a corpse.The day that his mother's sanity fallen before the hands of the Gods, was the same day that Ithaqua had lost his warmth and love, the two things that had made him feel like he was at home. On that anguish day had he thought he would never feel such warmth and love again.Yet.. Why was he feeling such things from you?
You who had forced your way into his life. You, who had claimed to love him despite your different roles as a survivor and hunter in this wretched game. You, someone, who had profusely confessed such love and affection for him despite the strange, angry and weird looks you had received from your very own acquaintances, teammates.
You, a lowly survivor, who he thought was nothing but a stupid fool for even thinking he'd fall for such tricks. A lowly survivor who he thought was an idiot for constantly trying to get his attention during every match, going as far as to throw the game just so he could notice you.She who he thought was nothing but a trick, a tool that was used to lure him by those wretched Gods.
You who.. he had realized was lonely and motionless by themselves, only to bounce right back to a happy, energetic person filled with such life in a quick of a second once someone had took notice of your strange behavior.
You who he, then later on, had realize such love for him so true, it was idiotic.
...
Yet it was you who had brought life once again upon his life, like how his mother did.It was you who had once again brought such warmth and love to him when he thought he could no longer get it.
It was you, who he thought was a lowly, stupid survivor, who had brought such light back into his life like his mother had once did.So it will be you who he'll change for, change for the better. Just like how he changed into the person he is today for his mother.
Ithaqua Norwell, who had once done it all for his mother. Will now do it all for her, like how she would do everything for him.
He who will change for the better for you. He who will change his ways and try to be more nicer for you, despite not knowing how to, despite struggling to do so. He who will try to love, all just for you. He who will go through hell and back to keep you away from those wretched Gods.
What Ithaqua had once done all for. What he had once lost all for, was his mother. Now he will learn, gain everything back for you. Try and change all just for you.
"I had lost everything. I had fallen and lost who I was from the hands of the Gods.. Yet now, I'm regaining who I once was from your hands. I despise Gods, them and their wretched ways and filthy hands. But your hands are nothing like them.. they're warm and bring me such newfound affection I thought I would never feel again.. My survivor, my dear, will you bring light upon my corpse just like how mother did?"
