#twst oneshot

[4pricorn]

How does it feel?

A Trey(Alice: Madness Returns AU) centric short fic

•Kinda OOC

•Implied almost starvation

•Self-esteem issues

Trey isn't sure what is going.

Why are those he knew saying these things?

Is it all in his head? Does he have to go back to the Asylum for his Madness?

He did what was right yet this is the results of his actions, his consequences.

No, that can't be right. He finishes his task, he did what he could to immediate the issue and this is what was repay to him.

But...this was his fault. He let this happen and he deserves it. He should have stopped Riddle before he became a tyrant, he should have done something, said something to him for his treatment towards his dorm. He may have changed but he still remembers how Riddle's magic constricts his throat.

He remembers that time he broke the rules. That day Riddle collared him. Too close to home he feels it.

Like how his own parents did it to him. They have their own set of punishments for him if he stepped out of line. He thought he could breathe but it followed him here and wearing a person he once knew face. Is this what he gets for leaving them?

It was painful, too painful for him. Yet he kept it all inside as that's the way to keep the pain away. To keep himself in control and hold himself accountable.

Huh...when was the last time he ate?

...

He should go and eat something before someone notices.

[starcityyy]

The First Bloom (Lilia Vanrouge x Fae Wife! Reader)

Summary: You begin experiencing unusual symptoms while Lilia and the others grow increasingly concerned, unaware of what he already knows. This is the second part to 'Seed of Hope'

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from TWST!

Warnings: infertility struggles, emotional distress, pregnancy discovery, themes of grief and long-term longing, surprise revelation. Reader is a Fae. Does not follow the TWST Storyline.

Authors Notes: It seems many of you guys who send messages like the first part and begged for a second one. Here it is!!! Also I have more works published that you can check out and be on the lookout for future ones being posted! Enjoy!

Parts: Pt.1 Pt.2

─────༺☆༻──────────༺☆༻──────────༺☆༻─────

The next few days began...strangely. Not alarming. Not enough to make you panic.

Just...off.

——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ———

It started with the tea.

You sat at the table one morning, staring down into your cup. The scent hit you first. Normally calming, something you'd loved for centuries but now it twisted your stomach unpleasantly. You frowned. "That's odd..."

Across from you, Silver paused mid-bite into his breakfast. "Is something wrong?" You only shook your head lightly. "No, just...not in the mood for tea I suppose."

Sebek and Malleus who were visiting both looked up. Sebek immediately leaned forward, concern sharp in his voice. "NOT IN THE MOOD? YOU DRINK THAT EVERY MORNING WITHOUT FAIL!" He yelled before being silenced by Silver.

Malleus, quieter, studied you. "You do look...a bit paler than usual..."

"I'm fine," You insisted, though even as you said it, your stomach gave a small uncomfortable twist.

Lilia, seated beside you, hid his smile behind his cup.

——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ———

The next sign came in the garden again.

You knelt among the flowers, but this time instead of calm, a wave of dizziness hit you. The world tilted slightly and you had to steady yourself against the stone border.

"Careful!" Silver was at your side in an instant, hand hovering near your arm. "I'm alright," You said quickly, though your voice wavered, "Just stood up too fast."

"YOU WERE KNEELING!" Sebek snapped, already panicking, "THAT MAKES NO SENSE!"

Lilia meanwhile was watching from the window of the cabin. He turned away slightly, pressing his lip together to hide his growing grin before whispering.

"Two"

——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ———

By the third day, it was exhaustion.

You had barely done anything, yet your limbs felt heavy, your thoughts slower. You found yourself sitting more often, resting your head against your hand as you watched the others.

“You should lie down,” Silver said gently.

“I’m not sick,” you replied, though even you weren’t fully convinced anymore. Silver knowing when his mother won't give in finally gave his comment. “This is unacceptable mother.... We should summon a physician immediately...all these dizzy spells and exhaustion worry me”

Malleus knelt slightly in front of you, his voice softer than the others. “You’ve been unwell for several days now. It would ease our minds.”

Your heart softened at their worry.

“I will be fine,” you reassured them.

By the hallway, Lilia leaned against the wall, shoulders shaking slightly. Not from worry. From barely contained laughter and looks at the family photo on the wall smiling.

"Three… how much longer will it take, I wonder?"

——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ———

Of course…Lilia didn’t keep it to himself.

That would have been impossible. One night, long after you had gone to sleep, a familiar presence entered the forest near the cabin fence waiting

“General.”

“Ah, you came,” Lilia greeted lightly, though there was a rare excitement in his eyes. "And stop calling me that, I am no general anymore" he sighs with fake annoyance.

Baur regarded him carefully. “Your message sounded…urgent.” Lilia hummed, then smiled—something softer, deeper than his usual teasing grin. “It’s happening.”

There was a pause.

“…You’re certain?”

“I’ve seen the signs,” Lilia said quietly. “Her magic…her body…everything aligns.” Baur exhaled slowly, something unreadable passing across his face. “…After all this time.”

Lilia nodded. They stood in silence for a moment. Then his grin returned. “She hasn’t realized yet.”

Baur raised a brow. “And you’re…waiting?”

“I want her to have that moment,” Lilia said. “She’s earned it.”

“…You’re enjoying this.”

“Oh, immensely.”

——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ———

Meanwhile, you were growing more confused by the day.

Strange cravings replaced your usual meals. Your magic fluctuated unpredictably. Your emotions—though you tried to keep them steady—felt closer to the surface than usual.

And still…

You didn’t connect it. The realization didn’t come in the forest. It came in the castle.

You had been called for a task—something simple, something routine. Assisting Malleus’s Grandmother herself was not unusual for you after all these years.

Still, standing before her always carried a certain weight. She observed you in silence at first, her gaze sharp, perceptive. “…You seem distracted.”

You hesitated, then gave a small, polite bow. “My apologies. I’ve simply been feeling…unusual as of late.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Unusual.”

You nodded, trying to explain. “I’ve been more tired than normal. Certain foods don’t sit right anymore. My magic has been…stronger, but inconsistent. And there are moments where I feel…” You paused, searching for the word. “…different.”

The queen watched you carefully. Then, slowly she smiled.

Not warmly.

Not coldly.

Something in between knowing. “…And you have not yet realized?” You blinked. “Realized…what?”

She stepped closer, her presence calm but unmistakably powerful. “For someone who has lived as long as you have,” she said, voice measured, “you are surprisingly unaware of your own body.”

Your confusion deepened. “I don’t—”

“You are with child.” The world…stopped.

“…What?”

Her expression didn’t change, though there was the faintest hint of amusement in her eyes. “Your symptoms are not subtle,” she continued. “Heightened magic. Physical sensitivity. Fatigue. Emotional fluctuation.”

Your breath caught. “No…that’s not…” Your voice faltered. “That’s not possible.”

“Isn’t it?”

Centuries of failure.

Centuries of hope.

Centuries of grief.

All of it crashed into that single moment.

Your hands trembled slightly. “…I…” The queen tilted her head just slightly. “You should confirm it, of course. But I would advise you to prepare yourself.”

There was the faintest pause.

“…This is not a mistake your body would make lightly.” She adds before smirking a bit "And I would advise talking to that husband of yours, something tells me Vanrouge knew...he is mischievous after all..."

——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ———

When you returned home, Lilia was waiting in the bedroom.

Of course he was. You stepped inside, quieter than usual. He looked up, studying your face—and immediately knew.

But he tilted his head anyway, feigning innocence. “Welcome back, my dear. How did your—”

“I’m pregnant.”

Silence.

A perfect, suspended moment. Lilia blinked once. Then twice. “…Pregnant?” he echoed, as if surprised.

You stared at him.

“…You knew.”

His smile broke. Soft. Proud. A little guilty. “…Perhaps.”

Your expression shifted—shock, realization, emotion all tangled together. “You knew and you didn’t tell me?!”

“I wanted you to discover it,” he said gently. “Your moment.”

You stared at him for another second…how are you so lucky having a sweet and compassionate husband for centuries...stood by your side during the good and many bad times. Then your composure cracked.

A shaky laugh escaped you, quickly followed by tears you hadn’t shed in centuries. “I thought…” your voice broke, “I thought it would never happen…”

Lilia crossed the room in an instant, pulling you into his arms.

“I know,” he whispered.

Outside, unnoticed by you, three figures lingered just close enough to hear.

“…Pregnant?” Sebek whispered, completely stunned.

Silver’s eyes softened immediately tearing up a bit.

Malleus closed his eyes briefly his head towards the open window, as if thanking the stars.

Inside, Lilia held you as you finally let yourself feel it.

Not grief.

Not longing.

But something new.

Something you had almost forgotten.

Hope.

[starcityyy]

Seed of Hope (Lilia Vanrouge x Fae Wife! Reader)

Summary: After centuries of trying and countless results, you begin to lose hope despite having raised Silver and guided Malleus as your own. Just when you finally accept that your dreams never come true, a tiny miracle happens.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from TWST!

Warnings: Emotional and heavy themes such as infertility, negative pregnancy, emotional grief, self-blame, angst etc. Reader is a Fae. Does not follow the TWST Storyline.

Authors Notes: This is a little one-shot, had this idea after finishing finally the last chapter up to date.... just be ready and have lots of gems during the Diasomnia Book....you are going to wish for those gems. Also, infertility is no joke, it's a difficult moment for those going through it, just know there are people like you, don't you ever think you are going through this alone. You beautiful human being, you are not broken.

Parts: Pt.1 Pt.2

─────༺☆༻──────────༺☆༻──────────༺☆༻─────

The night in Briar Valley Forest was still, the kind of stillness that felt ancient, as if even the wind decided to grow tired of moving. You sat alone on the stone bench that sat front of the cabin, thinking back what the mage doctor told you. Another negative result, another century of trying...another failure.

You didn't cry anymore, centuries had worn the tears out of you. Now there was only a quiet ache, a hollow space where hope use to live. Behind you, soft footsteps approached. Lilia always moved lightly, but you knew his presences after centuries of being married to the mischievous fae. He sat beside you without a word, his shoulder brushing yours. He didn't need to ask, he knew by seeing your face.

Another no..." He confirmed to which you only nodded. He reached out, gently taking your hand, his fingers wrapped around yours, warm and steady but you didn't feel steady at all. You felt like a cracked vessel, held together only by the memory of hope.

"I'm sorry," He murmured to which you shook your head "Don't be. It's not your fault."

He took both your hands in his, " it isn't yours either" he whispered softly but deep down you didn't believe him. The self-blame lingers in the back of your mind. " It's been so long... you might have lost count but not me...I remember every attempt. Every ritual...every remedy. Every Elders advice...Every time we thought maybe this one would be different." You voiced cracked.

Lilia's expression softened with a sadness he rarely showed. " My love..." "I’m tired,” you said, voice cracking. “I’m so tired of hoping. Every time I think I’ve accepted it, I try again. And every time, it hurts just as much.”

He pulled you into his arms, holding you close. You rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart — a sound that had comforted you for centuries. His hand stroked your back, slow and gentle.

“You don’t have to carry this alone,” he whispered.

“I know,” you said. “But it still feels like I do.”

You closed your eyes, letting the silence settle around you. After a moment, you spoke again, voice barely above a breath. “I shouldn’t feel this sad. I had the chance to raise Silver. To guide Malleus. I love them both more than I can ever say.”

“And they love you,” Lilia murmured.

“But they’re not ours,” you whispered. “Not in the way I wanted. Not in the way I dreamed of. I wanted a child with you. A piece of us. Something born from our love, our magic, our centuries together.” Lilia’s arms tightened around you. “I know.”

“I feel guilty,” you admitted. “Because I love Silver. I love Malleus. I love the family we have. But every time I see them, a part of me wonders what our child would have looked like. What traits they would have inherited. What kind of magic they would have had.” Lilia only stood quiet and listened to your feelings and thoughts. " Time...will tell my dear." He assures before taking you inside the cabin. ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ———

Days passed. You didn’t try again. You didn’t even think about it. You let yourself drift through your routines, helping Silver with his training, listening to Malleus speak about the stars, sharing quiet moments with Lilia. You smiled when you needed to. You laughed when you could. But the ache never left.

One evening, you found yourself in the garden, tending to the night‑blooming flowers. Your hands moved automatically, brushing soil from petals, trimming stems, whispering small spells to encourage growth. It was peaceful work, grounding work. You didn’t notice the way the flowers leaned toward you more than usual. You didn’t notice the faint shimmer in the air when you whispered your spell. You didn’t notice the way your magic glowed just a little brighter than it had in centuries.

But Lilia did.

He had come outside quietly, intending only to call you in for tea, but he stopped the moment he saw you. The flowers around you were glowing — not with their usual soft light, but with a brightness he hadn’t seen since ancient times. Your magic, normally gentle and steady, flickered around your fingertips like starlight caught in motion. The air itself seemed to hum, responding to you in a way it never had before.

Lilia’s breath stilled.

He knew these signs.

Old fae tales whispered of it — how a fae’s magic grew stronger, richer, more vibrant when carrying new life. A natural protection. A blessing. A quiet, ancient truth. He had never expected to see it. Not after so many centuries of disappointment. Not after watching you break and rebuild yourself over and over again.

But there it was.

He watched you kneel beside a cluster of blossoms, unaware of the way they turned toward you like children reaching for a mother’s hand. You murmured another spell, and the flowers responded instantly, blooming wider, brighter, as if eager to please you. You didn’t notice. You simply smiled faintly, tiredly, and moved on to the next plant.

Lilia pressed a hand to his chest, feeling his heart tremble. He wanted to run to you. He wanted to take your hands and tell you everything he saw, everything he knew. He wanted to lift you into his arms and let you cry, laugh, scream — whatever you needed after centuries of longing.

But he didn’t.

He stayed where he was, hidden in the shadows of the garden archway, watching you with a tenderness so deep it almost hurt. You had waited so long. You had suffered so quietly. You deserved to discover this in your own way, in your own time. You deserved the moment — your moment — when hope finally returned to you.

So he stayed silent.

You stood, brushing dirt from your hands, unaware of the soft glow still clinging to your fingertips. You looked up at the sky, lost in thought, and Lilia felt something inside him break and heal all at once.

You turned toward the house, ready to head inside, and Lilia stepped back just enough that you wouldn’t see the emotion in his eyes. He greeted you with a gentle smile, the same one he always gave you, though his heart was beating far too fast.

As you walked past him, he let his fingers brush yours — a small touch, a silent promise. You didn’t notice the way his hand lingered. You didn’t notice the way he looked at you, as if seeing something precious and fragile blooming right before him.

But he noticed everything.

And as you entered the house, a small idea began to form in your mind — a soft, tentative thought about showing Lilia the garden tomorrow, about casting a spell together the way you used to, about sharing a quiet moment under the night‑blooming flowers.

You didn’t know why the idea felt warm. You didn’t know why it felt right. You didn’t know why it felt like the beginning of something.

But Lilia did.

And he would wait — patiently, lovingly — for the moment you discovered it for yourself.

[otomes-world]

Slay the prince

Don't ask me why, but I was thinking about this as I was falling asleep. Why Vil? Because the role when he's doomed from the start, in my opinion, is very much in line with his in-game conflict. I don't know if I'll expand on this, but for now, it's there.

You're on your way to a lonely cabin deep in the forest. Your journey is hard and ponderous, but know this: you've been entrusted with an important mission. What mission? To save this world from destruction, of course! You're the very hero whose appearance was described in the chronicles and awaited-…

Shut up.

The voice trailed off, offended. Finally, silence. How sick you were of this gray forest, this damned little room, this world. A circle that has no beginning, in which you either kill or are killed. Well, you couldn't say you felt even a hint of hatred for your own killer. You doubt he had any choice either. Although feeling the chain tightening around your neck and hearing your cervical vertebrae snap was unpleasant, to say the least.

No matter which paths you took, the road stubbornly led you to the same place. Because this world wanted only one thing: for you to slay the Prince.

What he'd done, and why his release could lead to "the end," you didn't understand. Narrator refused to go into details, just like the Prince. You didn't know his name, nor did he yours. There was no need. You were each other's nemesis, and that was all that mattered.

Putting your forehead against the wooden door, you realized you were back at cabin again. Exhaling, you opened the door. The only thing you could do was end it all as quickly as possible. For what sake?

So that the world could go on-…

Disappear!

Maybe the power of your love would conquer everything?

And you, shut up too.

Someone would think you were crazy, and maybe you were, but the voices in your head had become part of the same routine as everything else. An endless cacophony of voices, dying down only for a moment, only to flare up again the next, deafening and eclipsing all other thoughts.

You knocked on the door leading to the basement and slowly descended the stairs. A meaningless politeness, but it was at least a way to make your presence known. However, no one else would have shown up here anyway.

Upon descending, you saw the Prince again, in his familiar purple robes with hair glowing golden despite the grayness of everything around. His hands were still cuffed and shackled to the wall. You'd personally witnessed the many ways he'd tried to free himself, how far he could go, but here you were again, in the same place and at the same time.

You knelt down in front of him and sat, stretching out your legs. He didn't even notice you, continuing to sit peacefully, leaning against the wall. Behind him, the moon shone through the window, casting a halo around his head. How could someone so beautiful and majestic bring destruction to the world? Did he even know what he was destined to do?

Although if you were in his place, chained in a basement for who knows how long and killed countless times… you yourself would hate this world. He was a villain to the universe, and you were his own.

Exhaling, you too closed your eyes, throwing head back. If the Prince took the chance to kill you now, you wouldn't say a word to him. Firstly, fair. Secondly, it would reset the world, but wouldn't solve the problem. His Royal Highness didn't move.

You couldn't kill him. You couldn't save him. You couldn't escape. You couldn't help him escape.

The voices grew surprisingly quiet, giving you a rare semblance of calm. In a world where nothing made sense, moments like these made it a little more bearable. Just a little while longer… until the Narrator returns. Until it forces you to stain your hands with blood one more time. Perhaps this world would burn in flames of hell without your intervention.

[lynkurosawa]

Eyes who could see the truth

Yuu eyes could see things other cant, truth, curse, any higher ghost others cant see. The eyes that see the truth and mouth who only say the truth. The first time Crowley promised him to search a way for her to comeback instead accept she say.

"You should not lied if you do you wouldnt end well."

Crowley dont understand how and why the girl could know he lied and someday when she point out his picture at the wall and he pass near them she heard her speak again.

"Who is that?"

Grim confusedly ask her back.

"What do you mean by who? That head master Crowley. You meet him at the wellcome ceremony with me."

Heard this the girl only give a flat stare at the picture and continue to clean the stairs.

"Oh sorry i cant see his face."

Crowley surprised to hear this information. She cant see his face? But why? Her vision seem to be normal. She also stare at grim straight to the eyes deferent when she only blankly stare at him. She indeed seem like she see something else when she him. Not stare at his eyes at all when she seem to be allright with others.

"Eh why?"

The little monster cat ask her innocently but she replied with a serious tone.

"Grim you should remember this. Never trust him."

"How would you know? And why i cant?"

Grim ask again curious with what Yuu say.

"He lied grim. He lied a lot. Person who lied so much had this black thing on their pinky finger. Words is a live becareful with what you say and promise to. If you dont..."

"If i dont?"

"That black thing would spread to your body. At first you cant move your finger, then your hand , and then spread all over your body. You would end up felt like a stone and then you would died."

Crowley felt like he just chocked when he hear this explanation. Its not true right? He is powerful mage how can he fall by a curse? Also she is magicless human how could she even know things about curse?

But then he stare at his pinky finger, he suddenly hear a sound of bells and a children laughing recite a spell while creeply singinging. Promise him to died.

"People would mistake it with sudden heart attack or stroke. This curse also would react in place the person would be in danger the most. Died on the road by a car or truck because of this also common."

"Is there no cure from it?!!"

With a grim look Yuu shook her head.

"No, there is nothing. It was imposible to run from it."

Imposible?!! Really?!! So if she is right he was really going to died from this curse?!! Crowley start to remember all his wrong doing in the past. Is this what human call as karma?

"What?!! That scary!! Wait!! Did you see that black thing at the head master?!!"

Yuu nod anda Crowley start to fear what he would hear next.

"Yes actualy i even cant see him ,with how thick it is im surprised he not died yet. Promise me to never lied especialy for a small things grim. Be truthful as you can be and if you want to hide things just dont say it just never lied okay?"

She then hug grim and move to another place for continue cleaning while the head master pondering if whet she said is right or not but the spell of the curse continue to ring on his ear. As if waiting for the right time to do their work.

[yuu-aretheonlyexception]

"Me? Wear glasses? No thanks, I'm way cuter without it anyway!"

(ft: @thought-about-yuu-way-2-much)

[otomes-world]

It always starts out typically

Yes, I got carried away by the genre of gothic horror. Don't know if I do it correctly, but I wanted to write something very atmospheric. The characters are those that appeared in the Halloween event last year, I used their image when writing. Enjoy 0/ ~3k words, slight yandere themes and horror elements

Your mother - or maybe your grandmother or another important figure, you couldn't remember exactly - liked to say that the time from three in the morning to five was the most dangerous. If the newspapers wrote about another murder, then with an above-average probability the killer attacked the victim at this time. Why? You could never get an answer to this question. As if mentioning it out loud once again was fraught with trouble.

However, the not-so-quiet whispers of neighbors and elderly old ladies calling on God at every opportunity had long ceased to seem unusual. The world was full of rumors, but, to be honest, you wanted your share of them to be a little less. Or that suspicious glances from people would feel more friendly. Or mysterious speculations and strange crimes would no longer be associated with your figure.

As an experiment, you spent the whole day and long night in the church, trying to be in everyone's sight. Did it save you from another portion of gossip for at least a day? Apparently not, because mages were able to cast curses and hexes from a distance.

Well, neighbors could have this right, as long as they kept a respectful distance and did not start plotting anything, people could think whatever they wanted. Perhaps that was why your mother, grandmother or anyone else never made acquaintances and friends outside of family. As far back as you could remember, as a child you were left to your own devices, playing exploration and seeking adventure in old yards and gardens. Completely overgrown with greenery and entwined with ivy, the buildings or what was left of them brought thoughts of a fairy tale, of a mysterious world existing somewhere nearby. Somewhere very close, living its life next to other people, but not able to influence them directly. Leaving riddles and hints scattered here and there, in the hope that someone equally curious would find and decipher the messages.

As a child, running among the ruins, avoiding sharp wrought-iron fences that were trying to catch and tear off a piece of your favorite clothes, was easier. For some reason, thoughts about the danger of such places did not enter the child's mind, about the fact that a more real threat than the ghosts of the past could lurk nearby.

As well as feeling someone else's gaze on you, but not finding confirmation or refutation, a person or another child, you was deciding that this was an echo of another world. Maybe 15 years ago you, true, dreamed of such a fairy tale: in anticipation of magic and hidden family secrets. However, at a conscious age, having learned to read other people's glances, "being different from everyone else" turned out to be not so fun.

As well as ignoring the cries of nosy crows that have fallen in love with the area around your family home. When your mother died of illness, and your father, whom you never knew, never showed up, you inherited the house filled with all sorts of memories. The neighbors continued to whisper about magic, about how you "stole" your parent's life force, becoming a full-fledged sorcerer. Naturally, the doctor's conclusion about pneumonia did not bother anyone.

You matured too early, figuring out the not-so-bright prospects of adult life and the difficulties that lay ahead. At sixteen, you decided that you would not have children, if only youth in a small town and nearby villages considered it their sacred duty to avoid you like plague. Just like caring old women enlightened every traveler and their parents about the possible danger of simply being nearby.

Finally, with your own twentieth birthday, you yourself put an end to the generation of men and women, having seen enough of their attitude towards yourself and others. You didn’t want to become one of the many, whose life revolves around children, and whose chores around the house are the main entertainment. The soul wanted a calling and a purpose in life, but the malicious cawing of crows promised only the title of a mage and a quiet, lonely existence. As well as that very look that you noticed, but always not adults. Perhaps this was one of the reasons for those rumors.

One of your consolations became walks, just like in childhood. Not too far from home, but not too close, so as not to cause an extra portion of gossip. The spruce forest was never generous or kind to a traveler who accidentally wandered in, but a local resident knew which paths you could walk and which ones you couldn’t. They knew that birds singing was a good sign, if only because complete silence was even worse. That soft moss and grass could hide a twisted root or even a hunter's trap.

Deciding to try a new path this time, you deviated from your usual route. August was coming to an end, and although it was still warm outside, the dampness of the coming autumn was already making itself known, with light fogs and humidity settling on the skin in small droplets and a sticky feeling. The grass yielded under each step, muffling the sounds of breaking twigs, sometimes interrupted by a light knock on the ground. That's how cones fell.

Cloudy weather was the most dangerous for walking, especially in the thickets. You can easily lose track of time and not have time to turn back before darkness comes. Just then, catching yourself in thought, you decided to stop and try to turn back, but your hearing caught a knocking. Stopping, you listened, not immediately noticing how the birds fell silent and the wind became the only source of white noise. Turning your head to the sides and closing your eyes, you tried to focus on your surroundings. A moment and again it was a knocking on… a glass? Nonsense. Where would glass or something similar come from in the forest.

However, this "something" could have been brought by a traveler and the knock was his way of attracting attention to themselves. Or maybe it was that very "murderer" that the newspapers loved to write about. After standing for another minute, thinking about all the pros and cons, you turned on your heels and began to return home. The voice of reason won.

Fifteen minutes later, you found yourself in the same place, which was very strange. Although you looked into these places for the first time, your entire childhood was spent in the forest and simply turning the wrong way, making a circle, was, at the very least, unusual. Sighing heavily and ignoring the stubborn knocking, you tried to get out of the thicket again, but the road, no less stubbornly, led you back.

Okay, this was definitely not normal.

There should, must be, a logical explanation for what was happening. Thoughts about the supernatural were as absurd as the rumors about your magic craft. Blowing a strand of hair out of your eyes, you forced yourself to breathe. Panic had never helped anyone, and getting out of the forest in your right mind before dark was no simple necessity.

"You won't let me go until I check, right?" Asking a question into the void was dictated by creeping paranoia. It was unclear what exactly you were hoping to hear. However, the silence that hung was no less frightening. Even annoying crows would come in handy now.

Gritting your teeth and forcibly exhaling the air you had been holding in, you headed towards the place where the sound was coming from. Yes, it was definitely madness, but sometimes there was no choice. Fortunately, or maybe on the contrary, the landscape around you began to change and the path led to a clearing completely overgrown with moss, clover and something else - perhaps these were just weeds growing everywhere. What was surprising was not this, but a large round mirror standing in the middle.

From old age and time, its frame was overgrown with rust, you didn't know how it took root, and the gilding - that was it, you guessed - had darkened. The glass surface was cleaned and polished, sharply contrasting with the desolation everywhere. Taking a cautious step, you came closer, looking at the reflection inside. Cloudy sky, tops of dark green firs and pines, entwined in fog. A dark, almost black frame around your figure. After standing for a while and making sure that no one would jump out or attack from behind, you sat down next to it, barely touching the cold surface with your fingertips.

"Who left you here and why?.." Another question was asked, which no one would answer. As well as the reason why someone or something wanted to show you an ancient object.

Blinking away the relief that rolled in - although it did not become clearer, the thought that nothing else had happened began to calm you down - you looked up at the mirror for the last time, jumping back sharply, seeing the changed surface of the glass. The reflection itself darkened, as if someone inside had dimmed the light, and in the place that you touched with your fingers, there was already someone else's hand. Someone else's hand. Someone else's fingers were touching the glass on the other side of the mirror.

Blinking a few more times, you wanted to rub your eyes on one side, but the voice inside refused to take your eyes off the mirror, watching if something else appeared there. Looking more closely, you noticed that the hand was clearly larger than yours, perhaps a man's. You didn't know women with such large hands and long fingers.

A minute passed, maybe two, but nothing changed. Your mind called you stupid and told you to get up and run, but your body refused to move from fear or curiosity, you couldn't decide what exactly was the reason. Carefully, as if afraid that the glass had suddenly changed temperature and one touch would be enough to burn you, you stretched your trembling fingers forward. As soon as the tips touched the glass, a loud crack was heard and you, closing your eyes, abruptly pulled your hand back.

When everything died down, you opened one eye, then the other. The clearing had completely changed, as had the mirror, or rather its absence. Instead, dry branches were folded in the shape of a circle, using the trunks of two nearby trees as a support. This was definitely a dream. Too real for your comfort, but there was no doubt that it was all part of your imagination.

Standing up, you brushed the dirt and dust off your clothes as best you could, they still needed to be washed upon your return. Walking around and even through the "circle", you didn't notice any changes. The lack of information was also a result, but whether it was encouraging was another question.

Rubbing your cold forearms, you began to look around. This was definitely a different forest with different trees. The native one was spruce and dark, damp and cold. This one, although not distinguished by warmth, consisted of pines, allowing the same cloudy sky to illuminate the bottom. Thanks for that. Birds did not chirp either here or there, as if this forest was dead, or maybe just sleeping. There were no squirrels running along the branches, no overripe cones falling, no fox or hare rustling in the bushes.

You didn't want to spend the night in a familiar forest, and there was no talk of staying for one in a foreign one, so you chose the most pleasant, if you may call it so, direction and headed there. The silence that hung was still broken only by the sound of your steps, drowning in the dried foliage. It was unknown what else the consciousness had prepared, but you had no desire to check. You just wanted to wake up and return to the dull life in a small town.

After some time, the road became more refined, the soil was replaced by stones, still green from moss and old age, but it became much more comfortable to walk. After another five minutes, but no more than ten, it led you to a small alley, empty, like everything around. The bushes were now located on both sides of the road, motley with some flowers, the names of which you did not know. Something like roses, but very strange looking ones. A wilted blooms with a completely bare stem, covered with thorns. It was "sharp" just to look at them, let alone touch. Which you preferred not to do.

The dream was "fascinating" in some sense, but the longer it dragged on and the more details it acquired, the stronger the feeling of anxiety grew. After an eternity - at some point you stopped mentally counting the minutes, distraction was no longer helping - you saw an old, obviously abandoned house. Many small windows, stone walls on three floors and a small porch. Coming closer sounded absurd, but in order to finish faster and wake up, you ignored the whispers of reason and continued walking.

When you reached the building, you noticed how tall it was. It seemed small from afar, but up close it began to look much more impressive. Perhaps it was not the mansion of a nobleman from the newspapers or the castle of a prince from fairy tales, but it could well be the country estate of some wealthy merchant or small count. The door, surprisingly still strong, opened with a creak, inviting you inside.

Without crossing the threshold, you looked around the hallway. Contrary to expectations, you were met with grayness, torn gray-blue curtains and furniture covered with white bedspreads. An old carpet, somehow still intact. Books scattered around on the floor and paintings, fallen from the walls. And dust, dust everywhere. You saw how it flew in the air, and already imagined how thickly it lay on all possible surfaces. This was not how you imagined the home of your dreams.

Sighing once again, you gathered your strength and crossed the threshold, noticing out of the corner of your eye how the door slammed. Turning around, you tried to stop it, but didn’t have time. It closed and refused to move, cutting off the way back completely.

Once again, in your feelings, you hit the door with your fist, but not with all your strength, you already understood that it was useless, you thought that from now on and in the future you would stop reading all sorts of horror stories and tabloids at night. Too much scope for the imagination to play out on such fertile ground.

A draft swayed your hair and attracted attention. Moving away from the ill-fated door, you looked around with a sad look at the devastation around you and, not finding another way, headed for the stairs, presumably to the second floor. The steps creaked unpleasantly under your weight, but to their credit they held. Although, given how dilapidated everything was, you wouldn't have been surprised if the planks would have broken. Feeling movement nearby, you turned your head, but saw only a wall with a portrait of a man hanging on it.

Pausing, you began to examine the canvas. In the same muted tones as everything around, although perhaps the colors had lost their brightness over time. You couldn't say for sure. The young man was dressed in a jacket with an unusual style, as if it was sewn from different scraps of fabric, a white shirt and an equally strange vest. However, there was no accounting for taste. On his hands were gloves, and he himself resembled a gentleman from the last century. Perhaps he even was the owner of the estate. Focusing on the somehow familiar features of his face, no matter how much you strained your memory, you could not remember where or whether you had seen him. Maybe he was a character in some story or literally a historical figure. You decided one thing for sure, you couldn't see him in everyday life. Adjusting the frame so that it hung evenly this time, you went up further.

It didn't take long to walk around the entire building, considering that after looking into a couple of rooms, you didn't bother checking the rest. Ahead were only long monotonous corridors with many doors. None of the places awakened memories, and so you simply returned to where it all began: you went down to the first floor. Carefully stepping up the steps, you once again turned your gaze to the portrait, but to your surprise it was empty. Touching the frame and even removing the heavy canvas, turning it back and forth, you found no changes. Whoever was depicted on it, he was no longer there. These mind games was starting to get under your skin. Upset, you hung the "portrait" back up, but facing the wall. You didn't want to see the man from the painting return.

Without bothering with your manners, you sat down abruptly on the sofa, raising a cloud of dust. There had to be something else. After pinching yourself a couple of times and not feeling any change other than an unpleasant pain, you gave up trying. Why did this dream just not want to end? Putting your head on the armrest, you tried to mentally force yourself to wake up. Someone said that once you become aware of yourself in a dream, you immediately wake up, but for some reason in reality it did not work.

Straightening up and leaning back more comfortably, you noticed that the clock nearby showed 3 am, - it was getting late - and mirror on fireplace. An odd choice, but then again, you couldn't judge person for their tastes. The reflection in it seemed to be different from the interior around. Getting up, you came closer to check.

To the hundredth surprise of the day, it was not you yourself who looked at you through the glass. It was not a mirror, but a window and very strange one. It showed not the street, but another room. Rising on your toes, you tried to examine the "reflection" more closely, finding that it was the hallway of your house. From the realization, you almost lost your balance and stood on your feet with all your weight, taking a few steps back, trying to take in the entire surface behind the frame with your gaze. There were fewer and fewer doubts: in the distance near the door stood a coat rack; a little further away an old chest of drawers that you could not find time to replace; a rocking chair on which you loved to swing as a child.

You looked around the room again in search of something or someone who could explain the strange coincidences. Find the traitor who dared to steal or rather break into part of your life. Driven by a crazy guess, you rushed to the windows, pulling back the protesting curtains, through the glass a painfully familiar overgrown garden looked at you. Through the other you could see a tall tree with a swing tied to it.

"..it's a dream. It's all.. a dream," you repeated out loud, trying to convince yourself of it. Because it couldn't be true. If it were real.. you didn't want to think about it.

Creak. Holding your breath, you turned to its source. The same portrait you'd turned over was now askew again. Stupid. So stupid. Could a draft have done it? Perhaps. Standing up on wobbly legs, you ran to the door, but the stubborn wood, the only solid thing in the house, refused to budge. Your knuckles were raw, and you stared blankly at your hands. Why did it hurt? Why was it bleeding?

It was all too wrong.

Creak. With your nerves taut like strings, you turned to see that the painting was now hanging as it should. It still depicts the young man you saw passing by. Only now, instead of a neutral expression, his features were frozen in cunningly narrowed eyes. For some reason, you were sure that his gaze was directed straight at you.

[egurt]

Overblot Idia x reader where reader acts like the little imps from herecules (i think thwir names were panic and fear) and was a childhood friend of idia. I think angst will best suit it or i dont really know

Also could i be called 💧anon if you would allow that

overblot!Idia × GN!reader, who like Pain and Panic* from Hercules.

summary: what if.

‼️ English isn't my first language! (⁠*⁠﹏⁠*⁠;⁠) gn reader,because dear 💧anon didn't specify. angst!! sorry,comrade, this work turned out to be very short because it turns out it is very difficult for me to write about Idia. I'm sorry if this bad,I panicked (⁠・⁠–⁠・⁠;⁠)⁠ゞ + not proofread

and for some reason I also really got hooked on the fact that these imps love the word "if" when they try to justify themselves. like: "what if something bad happened" "texactly, if. but that didn't happen,right??."

tw(?): reader feels useless.

Oh.

If only everything had stayed the same. Just the three of you, living a happy childhood, with full confidence that nothing would separate you. Maybe if you had been there that night with Idia and Orto, you would have been able to fix something. Maybe if not for the circumstances, everything would have been better than it is now.

Although where did you get that from? You were never particularly smart, you were the one who always looked at Idia with sparkling admiration in your eyes, while he was shining in all his genius. You are still too cowardly to do anything that could really help, so you always silently stood next to Idia, fulfilling his every request, hoping that it would help, hoping that you were useful.

But if you were really useful, then you would not now feel this hellishly icy tile under your bloody knees. If you were truly useful, you could have helped even earlier, without waiting for Idia to reach the boiling point. Yes, you couldn’t save Ortho, but maybe if you were a little braver and smarter, you could have said something, done something, shielded Idia from this huge downward spiral of his grief.

It’s not your fault, no matter how much you believe it, it’s not your fault that Idia didn’t resist the stain, it’s not your fault that he’s just a human. Every human has a limit. - Ortho, both real and not, would reassure you if he saw your pathetic expression now, distorted in fear and pain.

“I’ll fix it! I’ll fix it and make it better-” - you swear to Idia, in a desperate attempt to reach his consciousness.

For the first time in your life, you didn't like the word "if", because before it meant that nothing bad would happen, but now you thought only about how much better everything could have been if you…Oh, how you despised that word now. It used to be your shield, your flimsy excuse for inaction.

"Idia…!" - Your voice fades into a treacherous whisper, trembling. - "I swear, I'll try to do something if you ask me-" - You unexpectedly for yourself switch to shouting. A child's reflex is to believe that if you shout louder, it will help.

"If you could, you would have done it a long time ago." -The words hung in the air, heavier than the oppressive heat radiating from Idia. You scrambled backwards, away from the encroaching darkness that seemed to emanate from him, each movement a pathetic scrabble against the slick tile.

And he was right, you are not him to try to use your brain, you are not his brother to light up his life with just one smile.

You are just a stupid little imp, incapable of anything except blindly doing what you are asked to do and you can't even do that well.

The air thickened with despair, the crushing weight of your own inadequacy pressing down on you. You were useless. Always clinging to the edges,a comforting presence but never a solution. The years of adoration, the silent promises to always be there, were worthless now, reduced to ashes by the raging inferno of his Overblot.

You can't hold back the tears that have been building up in your eyes since the beginning, and you don't know if they're from panic, or regret, or both. Your hands are shaking, your tail is curled up, pressing against your back, trying to look smaller. Memories flashed in your head: the first meeting, the first timid smiles, the ideas he enthusiastically shared, dreams of the future, where the three of you would create something beautiful together. All of this was now crossed out with an ink blot, distorted, desecrated.

But then you remembered a different "if." What if you didn't try? What if you let him slip away completely? That "if" was far more terrifying than any of the others. You closed your eyes, took a shaky breath, and reached out.

what if all is not lost yet?

and yes i know that in the movie the imps are not loyal to Hades.