Well then 👉👈 How about Andrew and/or Weepy with a partner that likes to worship them- not even sexually, they just love every part of them, including that body that so disgusts them. They're both so cute! I wanna kiss them and hold them tenderly as I tell them so!
A lover’s praise 🪻
Lowkey mid but I feel a bit rusty okay cause I’ve been on a creative block also omg probably over focused on the fact they’re insecure as fuck but uhm, anyway hope you enjoy!
Tw: just tiny mention of past abuse/ hullabaloo incident (not completely canon! Actually yeah free style of some stuff on Andrew too probably but who cares), mentions of scars, burns and insecurity, slightly suggestive (?), this is set in a ‘modern’ setting, No manor mentioned!
🪦Andrew Having been ostracized, made fun of, and rejected his entire life, it’s natural for the idea of being completely unlikable to be deeply rooted inside him. I mean, look at it— nobody had ever been nice, nobody had ever even made the attempt to spare a word of kindness toward him. And if everyone did so, if that had been a recurring topos of his life, then maybe, just maybe, there had to be a reason, no? His mom had been an exception, that was true, yet everyone said it: it did not count. Mothers somehow always love their children, have to— how heartbreaking would it be to admit you’ve failed, spent nine agonizing months just for it to turn out to be a deluding, utter mess? A misplaced pulp of eyes and hair, all discolored, weird-looking. No, even a roach’s mother drowns its kids in praise and appreciation. But when you came along, oh, it seemed like all those worries could finally be silenced.
He’d be definitely shy at first, to have you see his body in any way. Not just necessarily naked, even mere glimpses here and there would be enough to make him dismiss you, tell you he remembered he had something to do, somewhere to go.
There was one time, after a particularly intense work day, when Andrew had come back completely wrecked. He was all sunburnt on his face and scalp, as you tried to put some ice and hydrating cream over the reddened, scorching skin. As if it wasn’t enough, he’d well thought to put short sleeves on that day; It was a hot mid-spring day after all— a cloudy one at that too. Of course, how could he not have thought sun rays could still be unkind even when not so visible? You moved to treat his burnt arms.
“Uh, can you take your shirt off? I need to see if there’s more under there”.
Andrew’s expression turned uncomfortable, fidgeting with his hands as he slowly swayed away from his position beside you on the bed.
“Uh— I just remembered I have to go!.. I’ve been asked to—”
“Nuh uh, not this time”.
You took his hand, crumbling whichever resolve he’d planned on using to flee the situation.
“I just don’t understand why you’re always trying to run, whenever we get to this point!”
“I am not…”
“Yes, you are! And it’s confusing! I mean, we’ve been together for so long now… am I the problem? Do I make you uncomfortable?”
“No, no, that’s not the issue!” He held his palm up, as if to signal you to stop dwelling in whatever thoughts were beginning to form in your mind, before sighing, pale eyelashes fluttering closed for a minute too long before fluttering open again. Shaky, faint irises looked at you, brows furrowed as if he was suddenly connecting the dots, offended by the mere suggestion of you being the problem. “It’s me— I’m just… grotesque”.
“What?”
You scoffed, as if he’d said the stupidest thing in the world.
“I’m objectively gross, a monster— I am weird. It’s something I’ve come to make amends with, but…” he gestured nervously with his hands on his lap “it’s something I thought was just part of me by now… but then you came in my life and it just— it messed with my brain, I suppose?”
“What are you even saying?”
“I don’t want you to see me— the complete me. You’d be disgusted and run away— ”
“No, it’s— I don’t understand why you would ever say something like that, Andrew.”
His gaze, roaming and trying to avoid your eyes as much as he could, finally trailed back to you, confused.
“I like you, ‘Drew. Any part of you, and I could show you if you let me”.
“But you’ve yet to see me, you cannot be so sure.”
His stubbornness had you roll your eyes, taking his hands in yours. Your thumb traced his wrist, soothing motions that sent a shiver down his spine.
“You are the prettiest person I’ve ever seen in my life, really. I don’t care who made you feel less than that, but it does not matter now.”
It’d definitely take a while, and more than a little sweet talking, but then he’d finally give up. Reluctantly taking his shirt off as he finally revealed himself to your watchful gaze.
His pale, ivory white skin, scarred here and there, faint bruises from whatever recent incident at work. Your hand moved to caress his cheek, then traced down; His neck, then all the way to the sides of his torso. He was quite tall, and lean for that— yet you could see the outline of muscles on his arms, a bit on his shoulders and abdomen as well. All those marks and signs told his story— wounds from past years, when he was kicked and beaten by other kids after his mother had died, too weak to defend himself. The muscles he’d naturally grown out of years of work holding the shovel and scooping dirt in and out for graves.
“I really don’t get it”.
“What don’t you get?”
“How you could ever be insecure… might be biased ’cause I love you, yes, but even that aside… you’re perfectly normal”.
He played with his hands again, nervousness and embarrassment forming an explosive, dangerous mix.
You kissed his cheek, both hands now pressed firmly on his chest.
“Actually, if I have to be completely honest you might be even more than simply normal…you’re perfect”.
“You’ve said it yourself, you’re biased”.
You couldn’t help but giggle, and he smiled. How he loved that sweet sound.
“True, but I really can’t grasp how I got so lucky, y’know?”
A small hiss escaped from his lips as you bit down his neck.
“I love whenever you hug me and your hair start to tickle me, making me all giggly like and idiot…” you buried your face in his neck.
“I love your eyes, the way they crease at the sides just slightly whenever you come back and see I’m already home. Your scent, I could recognize anywhere. Your chest, your arms, your hands…”
You closed your eyes, circling him with your arms.
“Glad to see you’re not burned on the rest of your body, though. Would have ruined this beautiful vision, mh?”.
🎭Weeping Clown Weepy had always been an impulsive person, in a way; The fact he burned down the entirety of Hullabaloo after his little ‘incident’ was just the epitome of that. However, actions have consequences, especially bad ones. Who would know better than him?
His rage on the circus had meant to be revenge for what he’d been through, how half his face (and career) had been compromised forever by Sergi’s blind cruelty. Yet he’d paid for that impulsivity quite dearly, as seen in the way he’d found himself after the explosion. He was sloppy, messy, not careful enough. One detonation after the other— one explosive had gone off on him, and even though he was lucky enough not to lose his hand, it had left mean, dark scars all over his right arm, his abdomen, some torn tissue on his sane leg as well.
He’d escaped, tried to rebuild a life far away from that massacre, to keep it behind him. Yet every time he walked down the street someone turned their head to stare, whispering about him— he was sure. Every time he caught a glimpse of himself in whatever reflective surface, he felt a sense of disgust so deep his stomach churned and twisted into knots to the point he needed to throw up.
His body was a shapeless mass, assembled in a moment in which God— or whatever deity had decided it was a good idea to create him— had clearly run out of pieces. Here a bit of what remains, there some other rejects. He was like a broken engine, useless and ugly.
Partially, that rejection of himself also came from a strange sense of shame. Not quite guilt, but a constant fear someone would come to him one day and make him face what he’d really done. Living in fear and despair. Oh, why didn’t he die as well that day?
But then, one day, he’d met you. You— oh, perfect you! You who did not judge him, who saw past him, past his ugly face and dirty mind. You were like a cure, the antidote to his misery.
Of course, the hatred he harbored toward himself was something he couldn’t hide from you, something you’d well taken notice of since the first day you met him. And you tried, kept trying to make his esteem a bit better. He was somewhat decent with makeup, and liked to share what he’d learned in the circus with you. Dressing up in silly ways, putting on weird looks. You liked it too, and so helped him with it.
Makeup made him feel better, especially when it was bold and theatrical— it was like hiding behind a mask, though it made him confident, so it was a good compromise.
“Hey, since you like putting on all those crazy colors on your face, can I full-body paint you?” you’d suggested one evening. “Y’know, kinda like they do in cosplays and stuff…”
He tensed as you finished painting his face white.
“Uh, I’m not sure it’s a good idea”.
“Why?”
“It’s just not” He scoffed, gesturing dismissively.
“Are you afraid?”
“What— ”
“Are you uncomfortable to— you know, take your shirt off?”
Your straightforwardness had surely not been something he’d expected. He tried to keep his voice steady, yet the borderline terror in it was unmistakable.
“What— no, it’s just not the time—”
“You can be honest with me. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel bad or— ”
“No, no, no! No, it’s completely wrong” His voice broke a pitch higher “You have done nothing wrong. Nothing. You’ve helped me a lot ever since I met you, it’s just…” He looked down at himself, as if trying to X-ray through the fabric of his clothes. He could already imagine it— your expression of horror when you finally saw him, the naked, real him. “I have been in an incident— I’ve told you, haven’t I? The same one that gave me this…” he gestured vaguely at the scar on the left side of his face. “It’s bad… spread across my body as well. It’s not a cute sight, dear.”
“Do you think I care?”
He looked confused. He tried to reply, but you were quick to resume talking.
“Do you think I care that you have more scars? You really think I’m gonna— what, run away for that?”
“It’s not just— it’s… gross. Real gross stuff. I don’t— don’t want you to think differently of me.”
You rubbed your temples.
“You really think so lowly of me?”
“It’s not what I meant!” His eyes widened. The last thing he wanted was to upset you. “It’s just… really worse than anything you can imagine. You’re going to leave after you see it. You’re going to leave and— and see that I’m really just a rotten monster, after all…”
“Hey, calm down” You pressed a small kiss to the tip of his nose. “Nothing of the nonsense you’re saying will ever happen… let’s make a deal, okay?”
He looked at you, silent acceptance as you spoke again.
“I’ve not lived the situations you have, but if you show me your scars, I’ll show you the worst I have. What do you think?”
“But it’s not— ”
“All the things I am insecure about! Really, it’s going to be like a secret we only know about.”
“… ”
You caressed his hair as he leaned into your touch.
“Please, just promise you’re not going to be disgusted”.
“I am not, pinky promise”.
He nodded, and finally showed you everything underneath his upper garments, sliding his scarf off as well. His body was lanky, bones peeking out of the thin layers of skin as he crossed his arms over his chest, as if trying to cover as much as possible. You could see burn scars littering sparse across his tissues.
He stood up in an unexpected jump, the entire situation suddenly feeling all too intense and unbearable.
“Happy now?”
You did not speak, simply followed him up. You went behind him, turning him to face a wall mirror hung up in your room as you held him, kissing the side of his neck.
“See?”
He forced his eyes shut.
“Come on, open your eyes real quick.”
“I can’t— I can’t—”
“Hey…”
He gasped, finally forcing his eyes wide open as he stared back at the image ahead of him.
His breath was heavy, liked he’d just emerged back up after sinking down, almost drowning.
“It’s so disgusting” his voice came out shaky, as if he was trying his hardest not to cry.
“It’s not”.
“It is!”
You kissed his neck again, then lifted your own shirt.
You pointed somewhere near your ribcage. “See? I’ve got a scar here. Looks similar to yours, doesn’t it? It’s such a silly story, too…”
Then another point somewhere on your skin. And another.
Each time, you caressed the corners of his scars, fingers tracing the skin gently, leaning in to kiss him.
You made sure to imprint those moments well in his brain so every time he’d ever see those scars again, feel them under his touch, he’d feel the ghosts of your kisses to make it all sweeter.
Your words were soothing, more so your presence there, secure behind him. You were not leaving after seeing him.
Norton Campbell is the type of boyfriend who initially struggles to find peace at night. He lies on his side, his back turned to you, muscles tense and restless. The shadows in the room seem to mirror the turmoil in his mind, and you can sense the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him. It takes time for him to unwind, the silence thick with the echoes of his past.
But as the night deepens, a shift begins. You feel him gradually relax, his breathing becoming steadier. He turns toward you, and you catch a glimpse of vulnerability in his eyes before he pulls you in by your waist, guiding you to rest against his chest. The warmth of his body envelops you, and there’s a sense of safety in the way he tugs you closer, as if he’s claiming the moment for both of you.
Once you’re nestled against him, he often lets his hand slide to your thigh, the weight of it grounding him. His fingers linger, tracing soft, deliberate patterns that send shivers up your spine. Sometimes, he’ll slip his hand under the hem of your shirt, his touch warm against your skin, igniting a gentle spark of intimacy. It’s a silent exchange, a way for him to connect with you deeply, feeling your warmth and letting go of the chaos outside.
As he buries his face into your hair, inhaling your scent, you can feel the tension in his body fade. He finds solace in your closeness, his breath warm against your neck, and you sense how much he craves this connection. Occasionally, he’ll shift slightly, urging you to lean deeper into him, his arm wrapping securely around your waist, pulling you even closer. It’s possessive yet tender, a protective embrace that makes you feel cherished.
When nightmares stir him from sleep, his body tenses again, but your presence acts as an anchor. He instinctively pulls you closer, his hand tightening on your thigh, fingers digging in just enough to convey his need for comfort. In those moments, you whisper soothing words, and he leans into your voice, drawing strength from your closeness. Your heartbeat becomes a steady rhythm that calms the storm inside him.
Eventually, he relaxes again, his breath evening out as he drapes his arm protectively around you. In those quiet hours, you’ve created a cocoon of safety where he can finally surrender his burdens, if only for a little while. Being wrapped in his embrace, you know that even through the shadows of his past, he finds light in your presence, a quiet intimacy that binds you both in a world that often feels chaotic.
Ithaqua murmured, voice low and steady, barely louder than the wind that whispered through the manor’s ancient walls. He stood at the far end of the waiting room, eyes scanning the long, familiar dining table. Survivors had always gathered here before matches, waiting for the call, nervously adjusting their straps or chatting in hushed tones. But today, something felt... unsettled.
Empty chairs. Unfinished tea. A half-cracked biscuit resting by a familiar spot.
Their spot.
They always sat there. Legs curled beneath them, eyes bright with defiance or exhaustion, depending on how many matches they'd endured that day. The manor's cruel whims often pulled their name more than any other, again and again, into the fog.
A consistent presence. An easy chase. A fast runner.
Ithaqua's gaze lingered on the chair longer than he meant to.
His mask, as always, hid any emotion. No one could see his frown. No one could read the strange weight that had settled across his chest. He was a hunter. Hunters did not worry. Hunters did not notice absence.
He reached out, gloved fingers brushing the edge of the table. The wood was cold. Undisturbed.
He let out a breath. Quiet. Faintly visible in the manor’s chill air.
Enough of this.
He turned, lifting his axe from where it leaned against the wall. The metal hummed softly at his touch.
Time to hunt.
───────── ♡ ─────────
Cold.
So cold.
My fingers curl against the snow, nails digging into the frozen earth as I try once again to pull myself forward. Pain flares sharp in my side, like fire, but it fades too quickly into something worse.
Numbness.
One leg won’t move. The other just drags behind me, useless.
I gasp in a ragged breath. Blood coats my tongue. The wind stings my eyes.
With it, I breathe out my last breath with the familiar sound of the match coming to an end.
───────── ♡ ─────────
They had been his favorite.
A fact they probably didn’t know. Or perhaps they did. There were moments, fleeting but unmistakable, when their gaze would catch him across the map. A flicker of recognition. Not fear. Not defiance. Just... familiarity. As if they too understood this strange rhythm between them. The hunter. The hunted. The chase that never truly ended.
They weren’t the strongest. Weren’t the loudest. But they ran like they were born for it. Like they understood the storm that followed them, and chose to dance through it anyway.
He called them "Little mouse."
The name came to him instinctively, something muttered beneath the hiss of the wind, too quiet for anyone but the ice to hear. They skittered through half-cracked windows, dove beneath broken pallets, looped him again and again until it no longer felt like a match.
He should have ended it, several times. He’d had them. Cornered. Slowed. Bleeding. But instead of finishing the job, he would hesitate, long enough for them to slip away again.
The manor was a place of repetition. Cycles. Fog. Screams that echoed and faded and never changed. But when they ran from him, there was motion. There was heat. There was life in the cold. And somewhere deep beneath the layers of frost that coated his soul, something stirred awake.
He didn’t know what to call it.
But it was something. A flicker. A reminder.
So he spared them.
Not every time, no. That would be too obvious. But often enough that he knew. And maybe they knew too. Maybe that’s why they kept coming back, even when their hands shook from too many matches, even when the others told them to hide.
They ran for their life, and he chased for his.
In the silence after every hunt, when the snow settled and the manor walls returned, he would remember the way they looked back. Not with hatred. Not with despair.
With breathless determination.
It was the only time he ever felt alive.
—-------
"Psst, hide."
Emma’s whisper cut through the static hum of decoding, just as her fingers tapped urgently against your shoulder. You didn’t stop. Your hands kept working on the cipher machine, sparks flicking at your gloves. She let out a soft pout and leaned closer.
"You’re half-health and already been chaired twice." She murmured. "If he finds you, it’s over."
"I know." You said simply.
Emma frowned, watching your fingers continue to fly across the wires. The last cipher ticked down too slowly for her liking. She bit her lip, then sighed, finally kneeling beside you to help decode.
"We need to be quick. Luca’s still kiting, but if he teleports here... it’s going to be a two-man battle."
"It’s fine." You replied, steady, quiet. "He won’t chair me."
That made her pause.
Emma turned her head slightly, concern settling across her features. "How could you be so sure?"
You didn’t look up. "Trust me. I know him."
Emma stared at you for a moment longer, but in the end, she didn’t argue. She just nodded reluctantly and focused on decoding beside you.
Luca didn’t make it much longer after that
───────── ♡ ─────────
The dining room was loud.
He hated it.
The long table was cluttered with mismatched silverware, spilled drinks, and hunters in varying degrees of noise and presence. Light poured down from the ornate ceiling, harsh and golden, pressing into his eyes. The warmth of it felt wrong. Suffocating.
He sat in silence, the only one untouched by food or mirth. A glass of water sat in front of him. Untouched, at first. Then he took a single gulp annoyingly. As if the water itself had offended him.
He had been acting irrational lately. Less thinking. More instinct. Decisions made without thought. A growing crack beneath the frost that made him what he was..
A heavy chair scraped across the floor beside him. The noise was obnoxiously loud.
"You're scowling again." Came Bane’s gravel-coated voice as he dropped into the seat next to him, meat still on his plate. "And you haven’t touched anything but water."
Ithaqua didn’t respond. He rarely did.
Across the room, Jack laughed at something Joseph muttered. Mary tilted her head back to sip her tea in that eerie, too-smooth way she did. Michiko sat alone, polishing the edge of her fan with precision. None of them paid attention to the conversation happening in this corner.
Hunters didn’t meddle in each other’s thoughts. Not unless something cracked the surface.
Bane didn’t push further. Ithaqua appreciated that about him the absence of pretense. The silence stretched long between them. Long enough for another laugh to echo from across the table, and another sigh to rise from Ithaqua’s chest.
"You noticed the matches’ve been different lately?" He asked, voice quieter than before. "Shorter. Fewer."
Ithaqua’s eyes flicked sideways, not turning his head. "Yes."
Bane gave a slow nod. "Thought you might. You keep count of things like that."
He leaned back in his seat, resting one arm along the back of the chair as he looked out across the dining hall.
"Something’s going on in the survivor side." He said after a moment. "Ain’t official, of course. Nobody tells us anything. But… you hear things. Picks are uneven. Some of the survivors won’t even leave their rooms."
That caught Ithaqua’s attention. It was subtle, but visible. His posture shifted, just slightly. His fingers, which had been idly tapping against the rim of his glass, came to a complete stop.
Bane picked up a piece of bread, tore it slowly, and kept going. "Normally, after a hunt ends, everything resets. But this time, something didn’t. After the match, when everyone returned, one is missing."
He paused to chew, as if that detail wasn’t heavy enough to hang in the air like smoke.
"No body." He added plainly. "Not in the infirmary. Not in the snow. Nowhere. It’s like they were never there at all."
Bane swallowed.
"…And the roster adjusted on its own … some how."
The chill that settled over Ithaqua wasn’t visible to anyone else. He remembered now. The detail he had shoved to the back of his mind, the thing he refused to acknowledge each time he sit down waiting for the match.
Their name, once so familiar and always listed near the top.... was gone.
───────── ♡ ─────────
Laughter echoed through the trees, sharp and breathless against the cold wind.
You pressed a shaky hand against your abdomen, blood slipping between your fingers. Your pulse throbbed beneath the wound. It wasn’t the worst hit you’d taken, but it wasn’t pretty either. This was definitely going to be a pain in the ass when you got back to bed tonight.
But honestly?
Worth it.
You grinned, teeth flashing despite the pain. Across the field, Ithaqua was rubbing his temple, the remnants of your well-placed kick still clearly affecting him. He growled low, rolling his neck as he turned his head sharply in your direction. His breath came out in misty bursts.
"How you like it?" You called, voice hoarse but triumphant.
His only answer was a sharp inhale, a tilt of his head, and that familiar, eerie silence that clung to him like a second skin.
"You’re gonna regret it." He muttered, tone low and icy.
"Pussy."
His eyes narrowed behind the mask.
"Rat."
You laughed again, almost buckling forward from the pain but still holding onto the pallet beside you like it was your last defense.
"We’re back to that lazy insult?" You wheezed, breath clouding the cold air.
Ithaqua didn’t respond. He stood still, breathing slowly, mask angled toward you with unnatural precision. Watching. Calculating. Waiting.
Your grip on the pallet tightened. You could feel your knees trembling beneath you, the ache in your ribs growing with every second. You wouldn’t get far if you ran. Maybe a few steps. Maybe just enough to distract him so the others could escape.
That would be enough.
You leaned heavily against the wood.
"You ain’t gonna win." You muttered. "Why don’t you just put me in a chair already? At least then you’ll have a tie and stop wasting time."
Still, he said nothing.
The wind blew softly between you, brushing snow across your boots and up your arms.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Just stared.
You were about to make another jab, something to break the tension, when he finally spoke.
"…I’m not intending to win."
You blinked.
"Says what?"
He tilted his head slightly. The mask gave away nothing, but something behind it felt unbearably real. You could feel it, heavy in his silence. The way his breath fogged in front of him. The way his shoulders didn’t lift for an attack. The way his fingers didn’t tighten on his axe.
For a long moment, nothing else existed. Not the pain in your side, not the blood soaking your shirt, not the others running somewhere far from here.
"You’re seriously telling me that you’d rather tie this match than chair me? After everything?" You snapped, voice gaining strength despite your labored breathing
Your stomach twisted. You hated this. You hated his silence. You hated how calm he looked. Like none of this mattered.
You glared at him, teeth clenched, eyes burning through the freezing wind. Boots scraped backward through the snow as you took one determined step, shifting weight toward the pallet behind you.
"Fine." You growled. "Then I’ll make you work for a tie too."
And with that, you twisted your body, ignoring the sharp flare of pain, and dove through the broken window behind you. The jagged edge of the frame caught your sleeve, cutting into the fabric, slicing skin, but you were already gone, landing hard in the snow beyond.
—---
The wind howled across the cliffs outside the manor, slicing through the trees and scattering snow like shards of glass across the frozen ground. Ithaqua stood at the edge of the overlook, high above the training grounds, his figure still and silent, barely distinguishable from the surrounding frost.
He had been standing there for hours.
The cold had never bothered him. It still didn’t. But tonight, it brought him no comfort.
The silence pressed down heavier than the snow beneath his boots, and it did nothing to quiet the storm churning beneath his skin.
His breath rose in thin, controlled clouds from behind the slits in his mask, curling upward into the dark air like smoke from a dying fire.
They should have run.
That thought circled in his head like a vulture, steady and suffocating. They always ran. That had been the rhythm of their encounters: hit, dodge, flee, repeat. Even bleeding, limping, seconds from collapse, they had never once failed to make a break for it.
And that day had been no different. Or so he thought.
They were wounded, yes, but conscious. Breathing. Stubborn as ever. The dungeon had opened just feet away. He had struck them down, but not fatally. He had left them there on purpose.
He turned away. He spared them. For once, he let them go.
Because he believed they would survive.
Because they always did.
But they didn’t.
They had stayed there in the snow, unmoving. The dungeon door had remained untouched. No final burst of defiance. No last-second escape. Nothing.
Not in the way you usually was. Bandaged up and lounging by the fireplace like nothing had happened. Flashing him a grin during the next match. Calling him "ice cube" or "snow freak" or rolling their eyes at his usual insults.
The manor’s magic, for the first time in its long, twisted history, had failed to bring someone back.
His fingers twitched at his side, gloved and shaking. He didn’t notice the motion at first, but when the tremor reached his wrist, he turned, stepping back from the cliff’s edge and toward the old stone wall at his back.
Then, without warning, he struck it.
His fist connected with the cold rock in a violent thud. The force sent cracks sprawling out beneath the frost. Shards of ice scattered in all directions, and the stone groaned beneath the blow.
He hit it again.
And again.
The leather of his gloves split slightly under the pressure, and still he didn’t stop.
"You could’ve moved." He growled through clenched teeth, each word rougher than the last.
"You should’ve moved. You knew what I was doing."
Another punch followed. Louder. Harder.
"I left you there. I let you go."
His voice wavered, and he slammed his palm flat against the wall, bracing himself as his shoulders trembled beneath his coat.
"You could’ve lived."
His chest rose and fell with sharp, uneven breaths. The fog from his mask clung to the edges like frostbite. The world around him blurred, and not even the familiar chill of the night could ground him.
"You stupid, reckless little mouse." He whispered. His voice was barely audible. "Why didn’t you run?"
He stayed like that for a long time, hand pressed to the cracked wall, head bowed beneath the weight of a silence that would not answer him. The wind continued to howl through the trees. Somewhere in the manor below, the candles still burned, and matches still played on, indifferent to the absence of one stubborn survivor.
✦.───────── ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ───────── .✦
Picture: from Identity V official (not me)
✦.───────── ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ───────── .✦
((GUYS I DELETED THE OTHER ONE I POSTED BECAUSE I DECIDED TO FINISH IT ON ONE. XC... Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy it because this is literally a LOT of writing xd || I reached 7.8k word count skdksk... Anyway, enjoy-)
While walking through the cold woods you hear the sound of the wind rustling through the trees. You can see your breath in the air, and you can feel the chill of the winter air. The scenery is breathtaking, and you pause for a moment to take it all in. You can hear the distant chirping of birds, and the crunch of snow under your feet. This place is so cold that you even wonder why it is so cold here. The season of spring has just begun, and it is not even the beginning of winter yet. Welp, welcome to the Plateau of Leng. It's known for its cold climate and mysterious atmosphere. It's a place like no other.
You continued your exploration of the Plateau of Leng, and you can feel the chill in the air. People here have adapted to the cold, and you can see them wearing thick clothing and furs. Even the animals of the Plateau have evolved to survive the cold temperatures. Even heard of the great old ones said to live in the depths of the Plateau of Leng, Ithaqua. They were said to be as old as the Plateau of Leng itself, and they were feared by the locals. But, meh. Ithaqua is nothing but a myth, a bedtime story parents tell their children to scare them into behaving.
As you went deeper into the Plateau of Leng, you started to understand why they were so afraid. The strange creatures, the eerie howls, and the sheer sense of dread that seemed to hang in the air. It was enough to make you think that maybe Ithaqua might not be just a myth after all. You started humming a song about Ithaqua, trying to distract yourself from the fear. “Ithaqua is not real! Ithaqua is just a story they tell! Nothing but a figment of our imagination.” You kept repeating the words to yourself, trying to make yourself feel better. But deep down, you weren't so sure.
Then a sudden gust of wind blew, pushing you back as if something unseen was passing by. You turned, looking for the source of the wind, but there was nothing there. You started to shiver, feeling a chill run down your spine. “.... Calm yourself, Y/n...” You took a few deep breaths, trying to steady your racing heart. You closed your eyes for a moment, and when you opened them again, all was still. You were alone, and the wind had passed. The terrifying trees around you rustled, the birds had all flown away, and the sun had disappeared behind the clouds.
A whistle that sounds like a bird is coming from behind the tall trees. You heard the noise and quickly spun around to find the source of the sound. "... Who's there?" Peering through the dense trees, you saw a silhouette in the distance. Fear gripped your heart as you took a step back, your eyes wide with terror. A chuckle and giggle echoed through the woods, followed by a faint whisper. “Don't fret. I promise I will not hurt you.”
The creature giggled and stepped out from behind the trees, revealing his horrifying appearance. He stares at your eyes with pale blue orbs behind the white mask. His long fingers beckoned you closer, and the faint smell of death hung in the air. “You have nothing to fear from me,” he said softly. You stepped back, fear coursing through your veins. You don't trust him, and your instincts tell you to run.
The creature smiled behind his mask and stepped closer. He giggled, a sinister sound that sent a chill up your spine. You turned and ran, not daring to look back until you were safely away. He watched you, a bemused expression on his face. “Someone help!” You yelled, but there was no one around. You stumbled and fell, your heart pounding as you looked back and saw the creature still watching you. You scrambled to your feet and ran faster.
"... I guess I have to chase you down." He sighed. Then the figure started chasing you. He was laughing like a maniac. His long slender hands pulled your hair tightly, making you fall to the snow-covered ground. You felt the cold snow against your skin as you tried to get away. He continued to laugh, a chilling sound that echoed around you, but he pinned your leg down using the large metallic blades that were bound to his legs. You screamed in terror as you felt the blade piercing your skin. Blood started to pour out of the wound as you tried to break free from his grip. You felt the coldness of the snow and the terror of the situation overwhelm you.
“You shouldn't have come here. These are my woods. I guard this forest.” He growled, pushing the blade deeper. You winced in pain, screaming out. He went closer to your face and snarled, “You should have thought twice before trespassing. You should have known better than to come here.” You looked up at his angry face and managed to squeak out a few words. “My apologies for trespassing into your forest! I was only here to explore the beauty of nature... I am sorry...”
He stopped pushing the blade. He seemed to calm down. He scratched the back of his hood and slowly raised his head, looking into the forest. But while you were pinned down and helpless beneath his blade, you remembered that this creature was the Ithaqua who had taken the lives of so many of the people. This figure was the one who the town feared most. “You are Ithaqua...?” You asked, your voice barely audible. The figure paused for a moment before nodding. “That's what they call me. Ithaqua, Wind-Walker, Death-Walker, I had been called by many names.” He looked down at you.
You weren't sure what to do. The figure seemed powerful and intimidating, and you were filled with fear. "You know... Some of you humans even worship me." He said with a laugh. “Hehehe.... And some of them tried to hunt me down.” You were left speechless, unsure of how to respond. “Hey? You there? Why so silent? Scared to talk to me?” He tilted his head. You were frozen in fear, unable to move or reply. He smiled behind the mask, and the air around him seemed to grow colder. “Come on, I'm not that scary,” he said, in a more sinister tone.
You were still pinned down, and you felt the blood slowly dripping down your leg and the pain increasing. He laughed and leaned in closer, his breath hot on your face. You could feel his presence looming over you, and it felt like your entire body was paralyzed. “You are interesting.” He stood up and pulled the blade from your leg. You winced in pain again as you felt the blade leave your leg.
“Can't get up?” He chuckled and said, “Let me take care of you.” He grabbed your arm and dragged you. Blood spilled on the snowy ground as he pulled you along. You were taken to a pond where the ice was slowly melting. He placed his ice axe on the ground and released your arm, then he sat down on the cold ground. He removed the bandages that are around the metallic stilts. After removing his stilts, he pulled your leg to the pond's edge and submerged it in the cold water.
You felt the cold sensation and immediately your leg was numb. You cried out in pain, but he ignored it and kept your leg in the water. You felt a sharp pain in your leg and then it subsided. He then removed your foot from the water and began to wrap it in bandages that were used on his stilts before. “There... All done! Hehe... You feel better now?” he asked. You nodded, still in shock from the pain. “I will be back; I'm just going to remove the blood from my blade.” He turned and walked away, leaving you to process the pain. You lay there, feeling a dull ache in your leg and trying to make sense of what had just happened.
Meanwhile, Ithaqua removed the blood stain from the large metallic blade from the pond. He had used the pond to cleanse the blade of your blood. Suddenly, something came into his mind, and he stared at the pond. He saw the reflection of a figure in the pond. It was himself, standing with the large metallic blade in his hands. He slowly removed his mask and looked deep into the reflection. His pale face, his pale eyes, and his pale locks flowed in the wind.
You were watching him from the other side of the pond. Looking down at the pond and appearing to be in deep thought, as if he were debating something in his head, you don't understand what he was doing. "I hate him, I hate him, I hate him, I hate him." You could hear him muttering. He was shaking his head as he continued to repeat the words. His jaw was clenching, and his eyes filled with tears. The grip on the blade in his hand was so tight. He raised his arm and hurled the blade into the pond with all his might. The ripples spread across the surface of the pond.
He slumped onto the ground, breathing heavily. His face was pale, and he was trembling. He sat there motionless, watching the ripples slowly fading away. You looked at him, wondering what had just happened. He seemed to be in shock, and you could see fear in his eyes. The hood of Ithaqua came down as his hands gripped his hair tightly. His breathing began to slow, and his trembling stopped. He looked up at you, his eyes wide with terror. “What are you looking at?” he whispered. When you saw the creature's face for the first time, he wasn't even a beast after all. You could see his humanity in his eyes, and you knew he was no monster. He was just broken, a victim of circumstance.
Even though he hurt your leg, you couldn't help but feel pity for him. “... Is there something wrong...?” You asked with your voice slightly trembling from the cold. In the middle of a pond on the other side of the lake, while you two sat there staring at each other in silence. As the cold winter forest surrounded the two of you, the tall trees swayed in the wind. You could feel the chill of the air. The only sound you could hear was the rustling of the leaves.
He slowly opened his mouth and said, “It's nothing.” He looked away, and you could see a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Is there something bothering you?” You asked. He shook his head, refusing to meet your gaze. “Nothing is bothering me.” He glared at you. You sighed and looked away. You knew he was lying, but you didn't want to push him. You decided to give him some space and not press the issue.
“....” He slowly put his mask back on. He stood up and began to walk towards you. He stopped in front of you and looked you in the eyes. Then he grabbed his ice axe which was beside you. You looked at him nervously, not knowing what to expect. The wound on your leg, which was wrapped in a bandage. He carefully examined it before looking back at you again. “You are really interesting...” He put his ice axe on his shoulder and then leaned in closer. “You look pitiful...” He whispered and smiled behind the mask. “Feeling so pity for me...”
He giggled. “You do not have to feel pity for me.” He gently brushed his fingers against the bandage. “In fact,” he said, “you are the one who needs pity.” He stood up and said, “You are hurt and helpless... Cannot stand very well." He chuckled and laughed as he was mocking you. You looked away, embarrassed, but he didn't seem to notice. He continued, “Hehe... You can't do much, can you?” He smiled, amused by your discomfort. “You know what? I'll just keep you here with me, that way I won't have to fret about you running away again.” You felt a chill run down your spine as his words hit you.
“Keep me?” You asked, feeling a wave of panic wash over you. He chuckled, the sound sending shivers down your spine. A sinister glint lit his eyes behind the mask as he replied, “Yes, keep you as mine.” He moved closer to you, his breathing heavy as he towered over you. “You will stay with me forever.” He said, his voice a low growl. You shook your head, trying to move away from him but he was too close. You felt your heart pounding in your chest and fear taking over as you realized that you were trapped. He reached out his hand and grabbed your arm while his other arm carried the two large blades, a cruel smirk behind the white mask.
“I am going to keep you as my company.” He started dragging you again. “No, no, no!” You started struggling, trying to break free from his grasp, but his grip was too strong. You screamed for help, but no one was there to hear you. And of course, you are in the middle of the forest. He started to laugh, a menacing laugh. You felt your heart racing as he dragged you away, not knowing what was in store for you. You were terrified. "I guess I just found myself a little friend, aren't we?” He glanced at you while dragging you deeper into the woods.
He stopped in front of a broken-down cabin, opened the door and pushed you in. You stumbled and fell onto the ground.
“Stay here, and I will be back.” Before he shut the door you suddenly spoke.
“W..Where are you going...?”
“That's none of your concern.”
He slammed the door shut and you heard him laughing as he walked away. You lay there, shaking, as you heard him walking further away.
As Ithaqua locked you up in a broken-down cabin, you never found a way out of this place. Instead, you crawl on top of a mattress infested with bugs. You lay there in the dark, unable to move, feeling the bugs crawling on your skin. The wind outside howls like a ghost, and you start to hear scratching and gnawing from below. You sleep fitfully, not knowing what horrors this day will bring.
A few hours later, a sudden thud came outside. The door creaks open, and someone enters the room. You woke up and heard the voice of a male that took you, “Fret not. It's just me, Ithaqua.” He said his voice like a distant whisper. A blood stain covered his outfit and blood dripped down the chin of the mask he was wearing. A gory intestine hung from the sharp blade of his long weapon. A scream escaped your lips as you shrieked in fear. “DON'T KILL ME!” You trembled in fear, unable to move. Ithaqua chuckled. “My word, you really fear the sight of blood, do you not?” He moved forward, dragging the severed arm and intestines through the broken-down door, leaving pieces and blood behind on the floor. The sharp, metallic smell reached your nostrils. He held the arm and intestines in front of your eyes, forcing you to stare at them. “Does this bother you?” You couldn't take your eyes away, shaking with fear as tears streamed down your face.
You could feel yourself going into shock as Ithaqua continued to laugh at your terror. “W-What is this...? Who are these people you've killed...?” You asked. Ithaqua tilted his head, still smiling. But his eyes were hidden behind his featureless mask. In fact, there was something unsettling in his entire demeanor, perhaps because of the brutality of the situation. “I don't normally kill people at all,” he replied in a flat tone of voice. “These must've been foolish travelers who entered my barbaric forest without permission.” He gestured around him, his gloved hand gesturing towards the torn-up inside of the cabin.
Blood was dripping down from the ceiling above. You looked up at the ceiling in horror. Your mind feels like it's spinning, trying to comprehend what exactly happened here. These corpses must have been his victims and were hidden in this cabin. No wonder it stinks here. You shivered at the thought and looked back at him. “So... These people... you killed-” Suddenly your words stopped when he spoke so suddenly “They must've been foolish enough to enter my forest without permission.” His expression became serious, his tone shifting to one of deadly seriousness. “I must have no witnesses to my presence. No one can be allowed to leave here alive. These people have already gotten too close.” He stepped closer, kneeling down so his eyes were level with yours.
“But you... you were unlucky, but not foolish. What is your name?” You paused, looking into his icy-blue irises pupils. Then you spoke. “My name is... Y/n” you said hesitantly. Ithaqua kept looking into your eyes, studying your expression. Then, he reached your hand, moving your hair out of your face and tucking it behind your ear. His finger lightly brushed your jawline. “A unique name. But your name is not necessary for now. From now on, you are my captive, and I will be your keeper.” His voice was quiet and calm, but it made your skin crawl.
You were too scared to move, so you just stayed rooted to the spot, your breath coming in shallow gasps. You felt a chill go down your spine when he touched you, and you closed your eyes, trying to suppress the fear. Ithaqua smiled. The mask he wore, painted with two, cold, unblinking, almond-shaped eyes, almost looked friendly when he did this. You felt a sudden wave of calm wash over you. “Don't fear me. I would not hurt you.” His breath brushed your hairline. You opened your eyes, meeting Ithaqua's gaze. You weren't even so sure if you should trust him. He's creepy yet something's wrong with him.
You spoke softly, “What are you going to do to me?” Ithaqua laughed. The sound was harsh and loud, like the wind howling outside. “How could you even ask such a thing? I will keep you. As my captive. No one will ever touch you, let alone see you. You will be mine and mine alone.” He got closer. The stench of blood was faint on his clothes. He wrapped a hand around your chin, cradling it. “You look... quite pretty, I must say.” He chuckled again. His grip tightened your chin, as the nails of his gloves digging into your skin. You muffled a cry of pain, not wanting to make a sound.
You felt your heart racing, fear coursing through your veins. Ithaqua chuckled again, his hand squeezing your chin as the nails pierced your skin. You felt pain, but no blood could be seen on his gloves. It was as if he were trying to hurt you yet doing no damage at all. “Such a frail little thing, you are. Just looking at you brings forth an urge to destroy you, in order to watch you crumble.” His tone was serious. You felt his fingers tighten further. “But... you are far too precious to be destroyed. At least, not yet.” He released your chin, and the pain subsided.
You put your hand to your chin, feeling the pain he had caused. Breathlessly, looked up into his eyes, feeling the intensity of his gaze. The tears in your eyes were cold on your hot cheeks. Ithaqua laughed, his harsh, cold voice echoing through the small room. You were still unable to move, and he came even closer, his gloved hand caressing the side of your face. “Such a sweet little cry you made,” he whispered. “And such beautiful eyes, Y/n.” He let his fingers trace the pattern of your tear tracks. His touch sent shivers down your spine. You wanted to pull away, but you were held in place by his gaze.
Suddenly, something changed Ithaqua's mind, and he pulled away from you. The way you cried out for help had an effect on him and he stepped away. He had a moment of hesitation, as if he remembered something in his past. His mother's face flashed in his mind, and he knew he had to let go. Ithaqua seemed deep in thought. His hand slowly retreated, leaving you alone and free to move again.
His eyes flickered with memories of his past. A sense of loss was evident in his expression. He was holding onto a memory. Of a moment when he felt love for the very first time. His mother's eyes were filled with worry and sadness. You saw him for the first time. Not the monster. But something else. Human. Your body shook with fear, but you could not look away. There was something about him that you didn't understand. Why was he silent all of a sudden? You wanted to ask him what was wrong, but you couldn't find the words. You just sat there on the mattress, looking at his pale blue pupils. Ithaqua, for the first time, felt his facade crack.
The mask he hid his real face behind was faltering. He felt something at that moment that he hadn't felt in countless centuries. A sense of compassion. A sense of love. And it scared him. Of course, he has felt love in the past. The kind of love only a mother can feel for a child. "I-" He cleared his throat. "I believe I've made a mistake. You are not one of the fools." He walked towards the doorway, turning his back on you. But what does he mean that “You are not one of the fools”? What was he talking about? “Huh?” It is the only word you managed to say. “You are precious to me. You remind me of her...” He opened the door, letting the cold wind enter and sweep through the cabin. But instead of leaving you, he walked towards you. His expression was filled with emotions, hard to decipher. Your eyes widened in surprise. Who is her? You thought about asking but you were too afraid. You were confused and scared, yet you felt a strange warmth in your chest. Ithaqua slowly crouched, putting a finger on your face.
You felt the rough leather of his glove. You felt his touch on your skin. The sense of warmth only increased. He looked at you, seemingly studying your every curve and detail. At that moment, you felt loved. “You remind me... of my mother.” He spoke softly. His tone was quiet and gentle. “Your innocence was just like hers.” You blinked, too surprised and overwhelmed to respond. Eyes narrowed as you looked away from him, not knowing what to say or do. You were still scared due to the gory scene and his bloody appearance, and the severed arm on the floor was still... there... Ithaqua saw your still-scared expression, and he noticed that. He reached towards the severed limb, picking it up without looking at your deadened face. With a quick motion, he threw the arm outside through the doorway, shutting the door immediately after. Then he turned back to you, his body almost touching yours and his expression serious. “I’m sorry, Y/n.” He leaned in closer, looking deep into your eyes. “My behavior was inexcusable..” You felt the sense of love overwhelming you.
What was happening? Was he trying to be gentle? You hadn't felt this before. You never understood why, but you couldn't help but feel drawn to him at that moment. His sudden change was confusing to you. You remembered when the two of you were at the pond where he was staring at himself on the water, and a sudden act that he had taken that you didn't understand. He was like a mystery to you. Ithaqua smiled. It wasn't the same cruel smile he had worn before. His gaze lowered to your hair, then to your face. He seemed sad. He reached out a hand towards you, caressing your skin with the back of his fingers. “Come...” Ithaqua's voice was soft and gentle. “I have something to show you.” He held out a hand towards you as if asking you to follow. You hesitated, looking at him before looking down at your leg which was wrapped in bandages, yet you can't even be able to walk.
“You see that I cannot walk...” You spoke, “Are you going to drag me again like a ragdoll?” Ithaqua raised an eyebrow. “You're quite dramatic, aren't you? No worries, I'll just lift you up, and we'll be off.” He sounded a bit annoyed with your words, but his expression was calm again. “It's not like I'll kill you or anything. At least, not now.” With that, he picked you up as if you were a sack of potatoes. He was strong. Well... Even though he has bony arms. You felt a little embarrassed and ashamed of your outburst, but it was too late. You wrapped your arms around his hood, and he started walking with you in tow. “Where are you taking me?” You asked.
Are you always this naïve? A gust of strong wind opened the door as he went outside with you carrying you in his arms. His boots crunched against the snow as he walked with you in the cold forest. But you felt a strange warmth and comfort in his arms as he carried you. He didn't respond to your question, instead, he kept walking for miles until he stopped in front of a large log. Beside the log, you saw two snowmen. The big snowman had two red feathers on its head and pieces of green fruits hanging on its face and it seemed like it was hugging the little snowman. Ithaqua walked with you in his arms, your weight on his hands. The cold wind was brushing against your bare legs, but his body provided warmth and comfort. Ithaqua eventually stopped, setting you down next to the large log.
You looked up at the snowmen, which you hadn't noticed before. "What are those snowmen?" You asked curiously, staring at both the large snowman with the two red feathers and the smaller snowman. They seemed to have embraced each other. Their eyes closed like they were happy together. It was almost poetic. A smile spread across Ithaqua's face as you admired the snowmen. He was thinking about his mother. A sense of guilt and sorrow was evident in his eyes. “These... these are snowmen I made a long time ago, when I still lived with my mother.” He seemed nostalgic. He knelt in front of the snowmen, slowly stroking the large one's face. You watched silently, trying to imagine what it must have been like for him. “I am sorry for your lost.” You whispered, trying to give him some comfort. Ithaqua looked up at you, smiling softly behind the featureless mask.
You felt the sense of warmth coming from him. The grief was still evident on his face, even though years had passed since his mother's death. “I would give up everything... just to experience the same affection again.” He whispered. He looked at both snowmen, stroking their faces and wiping the snow from their eyes. “I miss my mother... I wish... things were different...” You could hear the heartbreak and sorrow in his voice.
You really felt for him. You wanted to tell him that everything would be okay, but you didn't. You just stayed there, in silence, and let him grieve. Ithaqua stayed that way, grieving and remembering the only person he had felt love for. Your sense of compassion and empathy was surprising to you. Ithaqua, the cold and cruel killer? The creature of the night, with no emotions? It was strange to see this side of him. And you wanted to feel this kind of love from him. You didn't know why. But you wanted it. His eyes were still filled with grief as he looked at the snowmen. He seemed to remember their faces, their smiles, and most importantly, the love his mother felt for him.
After a few moments, he stood back up. His gaze was serious again as if returning to his usual demeanor. “Shall I carry you back to the cabin?” he asked politely, looking down at you. You nodded, “... Sure.” You looked up at him. You felt a deep connection to him and his pain. Now, you understood what it was like to be without love, and you wanted to be able to give it to him. Ithaqua kneeled once again, picking you up with ease. Your legs dangled beneath his arms as he stood up. The wind brushed against both of you, but you felt the heat emanating from him. “Come.” He spoke. His tone had changed again, from soft and calm to harsh and cold again. “We must not dawdle.” He turned around, carrying you, and started heading back to the cabin.
The snow crunched in every step he took. You were too scared to say anything, so you stayed quiet and did as he said. He soon arrived at the broken cabin and entered. There was no warm and inviting fire, no comforting smell of food, only a chill in the air and the sound of the wind outside and the smell of blood.
Your mind was filled with uneasiness. The cabin was filled with silence, apart from the howling of the outside wind and the crunching of the snow beneath Ithaqua's feet. You couldn't see as he entered with you in his arms. The cabin was cold. But the sense of warmth was everywhere. You could feel it coming from Ithaqua. You heard Ithaqua place you on a bed, and then he sat on the foot of it. His body emanated a feeling of warmth and you felt yourself relaxed a bit, your uneasiness slowly fading away.
You narrowed your eyes as you looked at his white bloody mask. “Why are you wearing your mask even when you're alone with me?” you asked. “Is there something that really bothers you? You've been acting so strangely like a while ago when we were at the pond... And I heard you muttering about... someone. Who was he?” Ithaqua turned his head to you, his mask facing you.
Your question seemed to surprise him, the expression on his face changing. Ithaqua's body tensed, and you could feel the heat emanating from him disappear immediately. “That was... nothing,” Ithaqua whispered. “As for why I wear my mask... it is a part of me. I feel incomplete without it.” His voice was cold again. He stared you down, his tone stern and harsh. "It would be in your best interest not to ask about things that do not concern you, Y/n." You didn't heed his warning at all. “I am curious,” you said, your voice unwavering. “Who is he?” Ithaqua’s eyes widened, and his jaw clenched.
Without another word, he grabbed his long weapon, the ice axe, and pointed the blade at you. “We DO NOT speak about HIM. He's a fool, nothing but a devil WHO WORE MY FACE.” He spat out the words, his fury radiating in the air. “And this? This mask you're talking about? I keep my ugly face to be hidden. DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND ME?” An unexpected surge of rage came over him. His eyes were wild, and his expression was menacing behind the mask. He was trembling with rage, and he seemed ready to strike. His past had been a hard one and this was a reminder of it.
Ithaqua's rage was evident. His body was shaking as he tightened his grip on his axe. Ithaqua's voice was loud and aggressive, his mask hiding his expression. You felt his anger like a heavy weight on you, as he stood up, his body moving towards the foot of your bed while he pointed his axe at you. Your heart was pumping, as his rage seemed to grow with every angry word he spoke. It was like he became a different person. “WHY must you provoke me, by bringing up HE WHO SHALL NOT BE MENTIONED?!” His voice was loud, and you trembled in fear. You had no idea what was going to happen next - it felt like your life was on the line. “My apologies... I should not let my curiosity get in the way”, you replied timidly. “I am sorry.” You looked away, tears streaming down your face. Ithaqua doesn't want to talk about the man that you were curious about. His past seemed to have caught up with him, and the air was tense.
Ithaqua remembered that day when that man led a mob to his house and took away his mother. Ithaqua could feel his heart racing, as he was reminded of the pain he faced. He saw your tears and looked at you. The anger was still prevalent on his mask, as his expression remained cold. Your uneasiness returned as you looked at him. You could see his body trembling in rage. He held the axe tightly as if he would use it any time now. He seemed to calm down. His mask made it difficult to read his expressions. “This is the last time I'm going to warn you. Don't mention him. Ever.” His voice was like a whisper.
He seemed serious, and his rage was still evident under his breath. You nodded, not wanting to provoke him further. You moved away slowly, the insects on the mattress swarming around you. Fear crept up your spine as you removed your gaze from him. You didn't mind the insects crawling on you. Ithaqua calmed down even more. His rage settled as he stared at you, his hands gripping the axe. You could see a hint of sadness in his body. As if he was thinking about something. But what? You could see the emotions slowly creeping up on Ithaqua's mask, as he seemed calm but not completely relaxed. He was trying to regain himself. The insects on the bed seemed to be moving around your body. The insects swarmed around your feet.
You didn't mind their presence, as they didn't harm you. The sense of uneasiness returned. Ithaqua's grip on the axe loosened and he stepped back, his gaze softening. He sighed, and his shoulders slumped in resignation. He set the axe down and removed his cloak, letting it fall into the cold ground. He only kept the white mask on his face, turning to look at you. He sat down on the mattress next to you as he reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face. His touch was cold like ice and yet gentle. Ithaqua seemed much calmer now. His body was no longer trembling in anger. His gaze was still solemn, but not filled with cold rage. His touch was gentle and soft, and the warmth was coming back. It was as if he was regaining his usual demeanor. He looked you in the eyes, his mask hiding his expression. Ithaqua was gentle as he brushed your hair away. “My mother always used to do this to... comfort me.” He slowly sat on the bed, looking at you. His mask hid the sorrow in his eyes. He had a distant look on his face as if reminiscing about a distant past.
You glanced at him; his eyes were filled with sadness. Then you suddenly placed your hand on his head, patting him gently. “... Do you want to lay your head on my lap?” You asked as you turned to look back into his pale blue eyes. Ithaqua was surprised by your question. He seemed taken aback as he felt your hand patting his head. He slowly nodded. “Yes... if that's okay.” He turned his head as you gently placed his head on your lap. He felt your hand stroking his mask. Ithaqua remembered the past and all he and his mother had to endure. His mind flashed, a memory of his mother brushing his hair and patting his head, comforting him. He could almost feel his mother again. You smiled warmly at him, but you never felt so close being with the male who held you as a captive. He just wanted someone to love him again.
Slowly, you take off the white bloody mask from his face, revealing his pale face, his cold lips, and his icy-blue eyes as you pull it off from his face. He was quite shocked to see you taking off the mask. You then gently stroke his wavy platinum hair to comfort him. Ithaqua was surprised by your action. You were the first one to see his true face. It was the first time you saw his beauty. He was handsome, despite the cold expression on his face. Ithaqua's eyes widened as he looked at you, his pale blue eyes staring intently at you. “What... You...” The words struggled to come out of his mouth as he was breathless. “You are beautiful.” You finally admitted as you whispered softly and smiled, “even with or without the mask.” You moved your hand away from his hair and placed it on his cheek. Ithaqua's cheeks turned red.
A sense of embarrassment came over him as he felt your hands on his face. He never felt anyone's touch other than his mother's touch. “You shouldn't... see this...” He whispered as he tried to reach for the mask you took off. The joy and embarrassment in his voice were evident. There was even a hint of shyness in his tone and words. You could see his eyes light up again. You smiled at him and reassured him that it was alright. “No, it is alright. I wanted to see the real you,” you said. “You are a beautiful man. You shouldn't fear who you are.” Ithaqua's face was filled with joy, happiness, and love. He blushed a bit, as he looked at you. His eyes filled with light. “I... I shouldn't hide behind this mask. It's not who I am...” He took your hand that was on his cheek, holding it in his hand and caressing your hand. “Thanks anyway...” You could just hear his voice filled with emotions. Joy and love. You felt his heart beating, and you felt his heat emanating from his chest. You looked into his eyes, and you both knew.
You felt the connection between you two. You moved closer to his face. “You are welcome.” His heart was beating faster, as the feelings were mutual. He moved closer to you, putting away his mask, and placing it down on the mattress so his lips were close to yours. He was holding your hand, as he caressed your cheek gently. “I have never felt like this before..” He whispered. His warm breath brushed your skin, as he gave you a slight gaze. You felt a sense of affection emanating from him. He gently placed his other hand on your neck, his fingers caressing your skin. It was like he was trying to comfort you. He was blushing a bit and smiling with his eyes closed. His voice was soft and gentle, like a whisper in the night. You could feel your heart racing, as you started to blush too. You leaned in and suddenly kissed him. His lips were cold, but your warmth spread through them. Ithaqua closed his eyes, as you kissed him. His lips were soft and cold against your lips. You could feel the affection radiating from him and your warmth spread through his lips. As you broke the kiss, you could see both of you breathing heavily.
A sense of affection and happiness had spread across both of you. Ithaqua placed his hand on your cheek again, as you both stared at each other. “You made me feel so alive...” He whispered, smiling a bit. His eyes twinkled as he said those words. You smiled back, as you intertwined your hands with his. He stood up and pulled you closer and kissed you again. His lips were gentle yet firm. Your touch sent a shiver through his body, as a wave of passion rushed through his blood. Ithaqua's arms wrapped around your waist, as he pulled you close in kiss again. His lips were firm, with a tender and gentle touch. His hands caressed your cheeks softly, as he kissed you with love and passion. “You're so beautiful...” He whispered. “Please, never leave me... I'm sorry..”
The words of desperation slipped from his mouth. Your touch was heavenly. You embraced him tightly, feeling his heart beating against your chest. You whispered back, "I am here, I am not going anywhere. I will stay with you always." You smiled. He let out a sigh of relief and smiled back, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You held him close, giving him the comfort, he needed. He then started kissing and gently biting your neck. You felt his love and warmth radiating through you, and you melted into his embrace. Ithaqua's heart was racing, as you melted into his embrace. His body was shaking, and your love was so warm and passionate. He had never felt love, kindness, or affection for so long. Ithaqua's teeth lightly trailed along your neck, as he kissed and gently bit them. His slender hands caressed your hips, as he hugged you tightly. He was like a man starving for affection, and you were his first meal. He didn't want to let you go.
You looked into his eyes and saw the longing he had. He slowly pushed you onto the mattress and leaned closer to you. You ran your hands through his wavy white locks and kissed him deeply. His lips were cold but sweet, with a touch of passion in them. He was almost like a hungry animal, as his hands caressed and held your hips. He looked at you passionately, like a man thirsting for compassion and love. A touch, a caress, and a hug that he hadn't had for so long. Ithaqua's lips touched you, as you both gave in to passion and love. His eyes closed tightly as he gave you a tight hug, as his hands went up your body, caressing your thighs. Your body quivered in pleasure as his touch sent a shiver down your spine. You could feel his heart beating quickly against your chest as you embraced each other. He continued to caress you, as your warmth was spread across his body. He gave you a gentle kiss, before pulling himself towards you. The sound of his heartbeat sounded like a drum in your ears. He ran his hands through your hair, his arms wrapped around you. He wanted you to know how loved you were, and to caress every inch of you.
You could feel his fingers running up and down along your thighs and stomach. “Y/n...” He whispered with a hint of lust. His breath was hot against your neck as he lightly kissed it. His hands moved lower until they were resting just above your clothes. You could feel the anticipation building as he looked into your eyes. His fingers lightly traced the edge of your clothes, as his mouth was still caressing your neck slightly. His breath was hot, and his touch sent a shiver across your body. You could feel anticipation in his body, as his touch was getting more aggressive. He then broke the kiss, and his icy eyes met yours with a look of lust. His hands moved lower and started taking off your clothes. He then pushed them off your body, and you felt a wave of pleasure as his hands moved over your skin. His mouth followed, trailing kisses across your body. His hands moved around your body, exploring and caressing as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear. You felt yourself getting lost in the moment, lost in the sensation of his touch. You felt like you were about to cry from his touch, yet you did. As your tears fell, he got even more excited.
Ithaqua's touch was addictive, as his hands caressed and touched you more. He was slowly discovering your body, your curves, and your sensitive spots as he kissed and caressed your body. You were like heaven to his touch... He could feel his heart racing and his passion rising up inside him. As your tears dropped, his hand caressed your face as he looked deeply into your eyes. He was trying to be gentle with you. You felt the tears slowly drop from your eyes. He then kissed your eyes and kissed away your tears. Is this what love felt like? You felt overwhelmed with emotion, and you embraced him tightly. He felt his heart swell with emotion and held you close. You knew this moment was special and would never forget it. You both knew that this was the beginning of something beautiful. His heart was beating out of his chest. A wave of emotions was flowing through his veins as you held him close.
As he felt your hands embrace him, it was all he needed at that moment. He wanted it to stay that way forever. His mouth slowly traced your neck and shoulders. His touch was light, as his tongue danced along your skin. Ithaqua's hands caressed your face again... your cheeks, your nose, your lips... as his love and passion were growing for you. Did you really have fallen in love with a man-killing beast? You looked into his eyes and could feel the love radiating from them. You knew you had fallen in love with him. You wanted to comfort him, to tell him that you would always be there for him. Now, you understand him. He was an abominable snowman, the beast who lurked on the Plateau of Leng, yet you felt a connection between the two of you. He was no longer a monster, but a loved one. Ithaqua was losing his inhibitions. He let go of his fears, his demons and his darkness, all to be with you. He had been loved finally, by someone. He wanted to comfort you, to hold you, to hug you and never let you go. You were like a Lenten Rose, a wildflower that grows in the snow. Every minute spent with you felt like an eternity.
“I'm sorry for being harsh and for hurting you earlier,” he said. He held you tightly, as tears started streaming down his face. His heart was filled with love, and he knew he never wanted to let go. “Promise me, Y/n. That you will stay with me.” He gazed into your eyes, his own filled with regret and sorrow. “I do not want to lose you like I lose her.”
Hi there! I was wondering if it's ok if you could do some angsty head canons of Eli Clark and/or Aesop Carl. Only do this if you have time though :)
ANON.......anon your brain is so huge anon..... so ginormos
im sorry for delaying this ask i was having a brat summer (playing p3p for 4 hours a day) but ACKKKKK i was so excited when i got it i love angsty prompts
cw for: mentions of attempted death and alcohol
eli clark and aesop carl angsty hcs 🦉⚰️
eli clark🦉
he's so selfish.
he gave into the comforts of the manor too easily. the free yet quality booze that makes you feel all warm inside, the heavy meals served everyday, warm sofa cushions padding your back. he got used to it so quickly it stopped seeming like a privilege.
in moments like these he often remembers gertrude, how she's probably somewhere out there praying for his - presumably dead - body to at least be found in one piece. it has been too long since he left home in order to pursue a chance of a comfortable life for the two of them. no one would think he survived.
the unfairness of it all is what hurts him the most. how shameless of him is indulging in luxuries when his most beloved is probably rationing a two-day's portion of bread? there's probably a way to escape - but maybe he just doesn't want to.
the fastest way to cope is to indulge in those same luxuries over and over, day by day. a lavish life that would otherwise cost one a fortune is easily available to any resident. haunted by the past? down a bottle of wine with the other nobodies to forget your sorrows. or two, if one doesn't give you the kick you need. stressed? ring the butler, serve yourself and light a cigarette. don't mind the ash and the butts staining the velvet covers since it's not your duty to clean up. nothing's working yet? there's enough concoctions and drugs in the basement to take them recreatively.
he might not look like the type, but he has tried them all. he stopped with some, though, but mostly because they don't work anymore. the others, guilt. luckily his alcohol tolerance remained the same through the years and - although on very rare occassions - just a puff from a cigarette helps him unwind a bit. his two trusty companions when his head pulses from thinking too hard and the weight on his chest makes it difficult to move a muscle.
not a single speck of high taste in his actions. he doesn't chug the wine with vigour like demi or josé and whatever he smokes slips out of his fingers 'cause of his clumsy grip. the devilish temptations are splayed on the low table in front of him like a tarot deck and he slowly takes in whatever his gut finds appropriate for the moment.
he's not addicted, it's not like he'll die from withdrawal, it's just (sadly) the quickest and most effective way of avoiding his problems.
only a handful of people know about his destructive habit, and the secret hasn't spread any further since he first joined. the same way of coping with guilt and shame results in more of guilt and shame, creating a vicious cycle. especially since many newbies admire him, a veteran, for persisting for so long in the games and remaining near the top of the food chain. it's not an image one should uphold, let alone someone with his reputation.
as time passed, this means of escape became more like a ritual, way less frequent and if not more important.
besides, the end is inevitable. it has been haunting him from the very beginning, day and night. visions of chaos intrude on his peace of mind everyday and there's no way he can avoid them.
it's only a matter of time before this garden of eden turns to ash. the end is near, but what hurts the most is he's the only one who knows what's coming.
aesop carl⚰️
one may assume the influence of jerry carl upon him has dwindled with time. it has been years since aesop joined in the survivor faction and started interacting with others. he already has a set of prepared phrases to use in daily communication. to most, this might give off an impression of someone skilled in socializing - of course, this is all just learned behavior.
even with him gone, jerry did build the foundation on which aesop carl's whole being is constructed. he taught him the ropes, how to prepare the dead - or the living - for a safe departure to the other side. jerry nullified every speck of empathy that may have resided in him once, for he's just a third faction in this exchange of life and death, not somebody who can choose between mercy and violence.
his profession is what he is. he can't remember the last time he worked with a real human body, although that just might be the effect of the memory distorting drugs he unknowingly took during his stay. with no real purpose, no need for his kind, aesop carl started to crumble.
his life has been on a downward spiral ever since he stepped foot into the manor. "oh, but he embalms the puppets!" - aren't they just a disgrace to his craft!? they're nothing but a perversion of what should be the most graceful and important duty on this earth. turning cloth into skin, rice filling into flesh, doesn't all this just scream idolatry? playing god? the dead are supposed to rest, not come back to life! it's completely reversing the natural process!
he dreams of being of use again, to finally be praised and admired instead of scrutinized and avoided. the same people that treat him like a creep beg for his aid when their body lays limp in the hunter's hands.
he wants to work with real people again. sometimes he drifts off and finds himself picking out the best candidate for embalming. fantasizes of their tranquil expression, the faint traces of warmth on the skin after they die. blood trailing down the curves of their body and him gently wiping it, their life taken with just one little scar that he'll patch up anyway.
it doesn't have to always be someone else, though. he's often enarmored in thoughts about his own death. he has already decided he'll stuff his usual coffin which he uses in matches with the softest padding he can find and the freshest yellow roses from the garden. maybe he'll overdose? smoothly transport his mind from one world to another? if things don't get better, this solution is always available.
his own little funeral, fit for a prince. he has to treat himself with care, no? his frail frame has already been damaged enough.
he sometimes avoids visiting emily after matches since he'd rather suffer than engage in unnecessary conversations. he's pretty sure his left rib is broken and his right knee makes concerning noises when he puts a lot of pressure on it. not to mention the amount of times he dislocated his knees and ankles. it's all good until it hurts to breathe while running and he gets hit in the same spot over and over again until he coughs up blood. hunters catch up with weak spots faster than one may think.
the smartest decision would be letting the expert heal him, but aesop knows emily would mercilessly scold him beforehand. he often finds starting arguments and conflicts fun, but this one he wants to avoid under any circumstances.
despite how torn he is between morals his mentor showed him and morals imposed by the society he's now part of, jerry undeniably cared for aesop. he was like a father he never had. he's starving for praise, just a whiff of validation coming from somebody he knows. he's the only person that truly knew his worth.
maybe all this physical pain is a good omen, a sign that he'll pass by natural causes soon. he learned a lot about other interpretations of reality and death from fiona's seances and the religious residents' prayers. he hopes this feeling he has is right and, maybe, he'll meet jerry again in the afterlife.
their hand trailed over your face, brushing a strand of hair out of the way. their fingers deftly felt around your face as they closed their eyes, struggling to take a deep breath. they could have choked, if they let themselves feel just a bit more.
but they can’t, they won’t; they’re staying strong because you couldn’t stay strong. they’re staying strong for you rather than themselves (but that was a lie, wasn’t it?) because you wanted them to stand tall, stand proud.
you were proud of them. but for what? what did they ever do to deserve you? what did they deserve to be touched by your kindness, showered in the light you held, that you had no idea you held. they were a dirty sinner, begging for forgiveness — maybe, from another sinner.
this world was cruel and never shed a merciful tear over anything mankind did.
maybe you were cruel too.
so cruel as to let them believe, let them hold, let them adore you — it was a cruel trick you pulled, having them fall in love with you.
good things were never meant to last, that’s all.
a small, broken whisper escapes from the thoughts — pleas — locked away inside.
“please don’t go,” they begged. “don’t.”
silence.
it was silence that greeted them, yet they held you closer, feeling as if even the silence was judging them. judging them for not keeping you alive, for failing to have you stay by their side.
they squeeze your hand tight, missing the warmth that was once there. even if you complained when your hands were cold, they felt it. it was a feeling that lasted too short.
you were sick, weren’t you?
too sick. you were left without a cure.
and now their only cure is gone now.
💗
they sat there, blankly staring at the wall. a small tune; a familiar melody of nostalgia, tainted with emptiness.
long ago, the words that accompanied the harmonies could make them feel warm.
now they only feel as cold, as cold as time left you.
no i didn’t mean to make angst
also yes i did include genshin in the tags but don’t expect me to write for it 👍🏼
HermAlva/HalVa headcanons because they're plaguing my mind (sorry it's long, like, it's their entire before manor lore):
Alva was the shy one
Herman was the first to confront Alva; they were both researching the same thing and Herman was like, "hmmm, he's cute, let's talk to him."
They became friends and there was always mutual feelings but none acted upon them
Herman met Maria(Luca's mum) and Alva watched sadly as Herman started his own life with Maria. He was never the less there for him tho
He met Luca before, when he was born to be precise. I don't care what NetEase says, it's my turn making the lore
Herman and Alva started the invention but suspicion started arising since they spent so much time together, alone, so Alva found a woman to marry who was in the same predicament
Alva and his wife made the mutual agreement they could see others in secret since they weren't in love but simply married for the social status
Herman took Luca with him to the lab sometimes
Herman cheated on Maria with Alva
Alva wanted to stop it, but he adored Herman too much
When Maria died Herman was heartbroken, of course, he did love her, but he stuck with Alva
Herman decided to say f you to society and chase a relationship with Alva
Alva was hesitant but agreed if they stayed together in secret
Luca grew up with the two of them taking care of him
Herman and Alva were pretty much Luca's dads
Herman kept trying to persuade Alva to run away with him and Luca but Alva declined, not wanting to throw everything they made together away
After an argument Herman took Luca and left, saying they just needed space
Alva was heartbroken and tried to do his best to get Herman to come back, or at least make sure he's living happily
Miscommunications happened and they lost contact, leaving Alva alone and heartbroken, with not even a proper wife to go back to
years later Luca came to his lab and asked to be his apprentice, claiming to have heard all about him from his father and having his biggest wish to work with him
Alva gladly accepted and Luca was surprised with the acceptance
Alva soon realized he didn't have memories of the two from when Alva helped raise him
Alva didn't stop treating him as his own son though
Eventually Alva tells Luca about their past and more misunderstandings happen
"you make me feel all warm and fuzzy" Mike Morton please 👉👈
Glow || Mike Morton/Acrobat x reader
this request is based upon the endearing prompts
angst ahead ❤
The manor was unusually quiet today, the jester-esque man not seeming to make himself present in any sort of situation in the morning, and by the time he had revealed himself, it had already been lunch. While he would usually brighten the halls, the frown on his face was something rather jarring to see, especially the way how he didn't greet anyone or make any sort of joke. In fact, he was almost dead silent as he made his way through the rooms to the kitchen, and was equally as quiet as he made his way back to the sleeping quarters.
"What's the matter with Mike?" You whispered to Margaretha as soon as Mike had left, the dancer sighing as she looked towards you.
"He's in one of his moods. You can really tell when he's not wearing his costume." She was right, Mike the Acrobat wasn't even wearing his acrobat costume when you saw him, in fact, he was just wearing a button-up and some slacks, no shoes, and not even a hint of any of his normal clownish makeup. He was rather plain, he was ordinary.
This behaviour continued for a few days, with Mike only seemingly coming out to eat or use any other facilities that he needed. But then one day he just... didn't show up at all. No one had seen him that day, he hadn't gotten any food, used the toilet, and nobody had seen his name card when the shower had been running, and it was becoming concerning really fast. Usually, the Acrobat was able to bounce back to his normal self after a few days, but even those that had known him the longest had mentioned that this was unusual behaviour.
And this is why you found yourself in front of his room, clutching the tray that you had brought along with you. Maybe if you were to go in and leave these on his desk, maybe he'd eat it - and roast was his favourite sort of dish, after all, he maybe couldn't pass up the opportunity to have roasted, honey-covered carrots and chicken and you knew how much he hated to waste food. Yet when you knocked on the door, his voice sounded so... sad and weak, it was almost a shadow of his normal self.
"Mike, I brought you dinner, can I come in?" He didn't answer, but the gentle tapping of feet on the other side let you know he was awake, and when the door creaked open a bit for Mike to peer out an azure eye you gave him a small smile. "It's roast. Murro helped make it." You knew that Mike had a soft spot for the man, and watching as his eye softened a bit before the door shut, you heard the deadbolt [something that all the survivors had installed due to frequent instances of Kreacher stealing things] come undone before the door opened up fully.
"Yeah, it smells good." He was trying to put on a happy face, but as he tried to take the tray you decided to let yourself in, mentioning something about how it was decently heavy, and you didn't want to bother Mike with having to carry it. And oh dear, his room was a mess: clothes strewn all over the floor, empty bowls, plates and even dirty cutlery piling up on his desk, and even his diary seemed to be in somewhat of a shamble, with ink spilt over the pages from the ink well that usually was in the divet in his desk. It almost smelt like death.
This was a depression room.
You had seen many depression rooms happen within the manor, from Emma to Jose, everyone eventually would have a depression room since hope was something hard to keep a hold onto, but this was the quickest one had gone into this much disarray since the day before it had started, his room was basically spotless from you helping with the laundry.
Finding a semi-clean spot, you sat the tray down, having to step over things in order to reach the spot, and then bending down, you began to pile things into your arms.
"You don't have to-"
"Mike, you need help here. I'm just going to help you, you need to eat." There was no room for discussion on your decision, and as Mike cleared away some of his clutter and began eating, you made quick work of the clothing scattered around the room, throwing them into the nearby hamper to be taken down to the laundry room later before beginning to stack the dirty dinnerware that most likely had been sitting there for a while.
The way he hunched himself in his spot, gently picking at the food that sat on the tray in his lap, it was obvious that the man was ashamed for how he had to get help, but sighing as you finished stacking the plates and bowls on top of the nightstand, you sat down next to Mike now on the semi-clean bed. "Listen, you don't need to tell me what's on your mind, but please know that I'm still here to help you." Grasping his shoulder and giving it a firm squeeze, you smiled slightly at the small hint of a smile that showed on his scarred face, the man finally taking a bit of the lukewarm carrots on his plate.
"I know but, sometimes, things can't be helped." It most likely revolved around the rest of the surviving hullabaloo cast members, as you weren't stupid, you knew how Mike would stare at them as if they were a piece of dirt on the bottom of his shoe, you knew that despite the other cast members wanting to try and have a friendship with him were pushed away. Yet none of them held malice for him. Yet he held onto his. "... Thank you..." The man mumbled, having a mouth full of chicken as he spoke, "you shouldn't help me though." We're all criminals, after all you finished in your head, already knowing what he was thinking; when you had first came to the manor, you didn't know why everyone else was here, but over time, finding out that the manor seemingly was here for them to repent for their crimes, it always seemed a bit more homely, and as much as everyone else had came to terms with what they've done and working to redeem themselves. And that included him, as much as he still held onto something.
"Mike, we live together- we have to work together, we have to look after each other, I care for you, Mike." Mike almost choked on his food in that moment, the acrobat thumping a closed fist against his chest as he coughed, bits of spit drooling from his lips as his face flushed a gentle red and only seemed to grow redder when you began to rub his back.
"Ya know..." The acrobat began once he had gotten his breath back, "you make me all warm 'nd fuzzy when you say stuff like that." There was that smile, bright as ever as he looked at you, "Be careful before someone catches feelings, or has to rival them." Watching as he set his tray aside, you blinked for a moment before letting out a gentle yell, feeling yourself being dragged back on his bed by a pair of thin but firm arms.
"Stay a bit, I have a lot to tell ya." There was his glowing smile, just for you.
