#<- came up with this tag for this... AU? Maybe

[3hkowalski]

DONT LET THEM GET AWAAAY!!! 💥

escaping together with G :) Are they able to achieve a good ending on this timeline...?

why am i fully rendering this piece.. i might end up regretting it anyways this is just a *headcanon!! maybe as an AU or sth: Wesker came back and made it just in time--or did he?

Expect this AU's timeline to be much earlier (which is why they're very young? idk.

TY for your lov on the last piece!! I love reading yall tags & headcanons sm 😋💙!!

[steddieas-shegoes]

i hate the way i don't hate you

for @steddielovemonth inspired by 10 Things I Hate About You

rated m | 2571 words | cw: implied sexual content | tags: inspired by 10 things i hate about you but it's so short so keep that in mind, enemies to friends to lovers, time skips, getting together, falling in love, modern au

💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓

“Let me get this straight: you asked him out as part of a bet.”

“Mhm.”

“Because he’s insufferable and everyone in your little misfit group decided it would be funny.”

“Uh huh.”

“And your plan was to stand him up at prom so he would know how it feels to be heartbroken.”

“In a nutshell.”

“And then you fell in love with him.”

Eddie blinks at Robin, who looks like she might kill him with her bare hands. Honestly, he deserves it. He kinda hopes she makes him suffer.

“All signs point to yes,” he says.

She sighs. And then she sits down. And then sighs again.

“This is absolutely bullshit, you know that right?” She finally asks. “Steve’s a good person. He never deserved to be treated like his feelings don’t matter.”

“I know. And I should’ve known that from the beginning.”

“You fucked this up. He’s gonna hate you.”

Eddie knows that’s a good possibility. He hopes Steve is forgiving, but he knows he doesn’t deserve to ask him to be.

“If he does, I deserve it. But I came to you because I couldn’t lie anymore,” Eddie knows his reputation with his friends is on the line. He doesn’t care. “I’m gonna talk to him tonight and let him make his own decision.”

“You’re gonna tell him the day of prom that his prom date is an asshole?” Robin stands up again. “You’re gonna ruin his senior prom.”

“I’m ruining it either way. People are gonna tell him about it at prom if I don’t tell him before,” Eddie argues. “He deserves to hear it from me.”

“He deserves to not be a circus act,” Robin says, but nods. “Make sure you return your tux tomorrow. His card will get charged a penalty if it’s late.”

Eddie doesn’t tell her he already returned the tux. He figures it’s probably not the time.

He knows Steve won’t want to be near him after he tells him about the bet.

****

One month earlier

“You’d never land a guy like that anyway,” Gareth jokes. “Steve Harrington wouldn’t even glance your way let alone date you.”

“He’s so uptight, he’d laugh in your face if you even tried,” Frankie adds.

Eddie watches Steve carry Robin’s books to her locker so she can carry her trumpet case and science project.

“Wanna bet?”

****

Two weeks earlier

“You write music?” Steve asks as Eddie closes his notebook.

“I try,” Eddie smiles at him. “It’s not always good. It’s rarely good.”

“Could I hear some of it?”

“Maybe.” Eddie lights his cigarette, smirking around it as Steve’s cheeks turn a rosy pink. “Do you like metal?”

“I’ve never really listened to it,” Steve admits. “But I’d give it a shot if that’s what you wrote.”

“Come to my band’s show this weekend. I might play an original song as our encore,” Eddie says. “Might even dedicate it to you.”

The blush gets deeper.

****

The night before

“You know I used to wanna be an astronaut?” Steve says as he leans his head onto Eddie’s shoulder. “Still would if I was any good at math. I mean, I get by in class, but I’m in the easiest classes. Probably not astronaut material. Plus, I get seasick.”

Eddie laughs, something he’s done a lot with Steve. Something he never expected to be doing so much, actually.

“You could still work with NASA. Maybe you can’t go to space, but you could help people get there,” Eddie offers. “They’ve got plenty of people working in the office.”

“Yeah, but I think it would be hard to be so close, yet so far, ya know? Like I’m technically no closer to space there than I am right now. If anything, I’d be farther because I’d be stuck in a building, but here I’m with you,” Steve says simply.

Eddie leans his head on top of Steve’s, looking ahead instead of above.

His heart skips a beat when Steve’s hand rests on his knee.

“I’m glad I get to be here with you,” he says quietly.

Eddie swallows around another lie.

****

Present day

“Eddie! What’re you doing here?”

Eddie hates how excited Steve is to see him. It’s gonna make this so much harder.

His chest aches as he gives him a small, fake smile. Steve notices immediately because of course he does. Steve sees Eddie in ways his own friends don’t.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks, and Eddie can hear it already in his tone, the way his body is rearing up for disappointment. Steve’s said it himself before: he’s always prepared for the other shoe to drop because everyone’s got two feet.

“Can we sit?”

“No. You can tell me whatever it is just like this.”

Eddie accepts it because arguing now isn’t going to help anything. Sitting or standing, Steve is going to be pissed at him.

“I can’t go to prom with you.”

Steve is looking at him with wide eyes. “What do you mean? Was something wrong with the tux? It’s not a big deal if you wanna go in jeans. I promise I was kidding about leaving you in a corner.”

Eddie gives an unamused laugh. “No, that’s- no. I lied to you. For over a month now. I only asked you out because my friends didn’t think you’d even talk to me, let alone agree to go to prom with me.”

Steve’s silence hurts almost as much as the tears that are gathering in his eyes.

“I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m sorry I ever even bet them that I could get you to go out with me. I’m sorry that sorry isn’t enough.”

Eddie can feel tears in his own eyes, but it’s not fair of him to cry. He caused this. He’s the reason Steve is upset. He shouldn’t get to be upset in front of him.

“Steven! The tux is pressed!” Steve’s mom yells from the front door. “Come inside so I can make sure the tailor got the sleeves right.”

Steve breathes in slowly before turning to his mom and telling her he’ll be in in a minute. He turns back to Eddie and sniffles.

“I guess I’ll see you at school.”

“Steve, I’m sorry. Really.”

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

Steve walks into the house, leaves Eddie in the driveway.

****

Eddie paces his room.

There’s not a lot of space to do that, but he manages to wear a track in the carpet. Wayne will be home any minute asking him why he isn’t at the prom, why he isn’t with Steve.

Eddie will tell him and he’ll give him that same look he did when he told him about turning a kid away from Hellfire Club. It’s disappointment, and Eddie hates it.

The front door opens, Wayne’s footsteps echo to the kitchen while he puts away his ice pack and leftover containers from lunch, he pops open a can of beer, and then walks to Eddie’s room. He knocks on the door.

Eddie starts crying.

Wayne rushes into his room, sets his beer on the bedside table, and gathers Eddie into his arms.

“What’s goin’ on, son? Thought you’d be getting ready for your dance,” Wayne says, but it just makes Eddie cry harder.

Eventually, he calms down enough to explain.

Wayne keeps holding him because Wayne will always hold him, even when he’s disappointed in him.

“Well, he didn’t punch ya in the face,” Wayne finally says. “You apologized?”

“Yeah, but it didn’t matter. I still hurt him and he won’t forgive me.”

“You think you deserve to be forgiven?” He wasn’t asking meanly, just genuinely inquiring.

“I don’t know,” he admits.

If he’d asked earlier, he would’ve given a resounding ‘no.’ But he knows how sorry he is, and even though Steve probably never will forgive him, he does hope he will.

“If you’re really sorry, he’ll forgive ya,” Wayne settles on.

Eddie shakes his head, wipes his eyes and then his nose, frowning at the snot on his fingers. He wipes it on his shirt and falls back on his bed. Wayne laughs at him, pats his chest, and stands to leave.

“You could do something big for him,” Wayne suggests.

“Like what?”

“I dunno, you showed him that song you wrote about him yet?”

“I can’t show him that! Not now!”

“Why not? It’s about as big a declaration of love you can give.”

Eddie hates when Wayne’s right.

****

He gets Robin on board with bribery. A lot of it.

Money is definitely involved, more money than he really should spend, as well as his best weed (“it’s not for me!”) and free rides for the entire summer whenever she wants.

But she agrees to get Steve to The Hideout on Saturday night. She’s not good at lying, but she manages to tell a half-truth and Steve believes her.

Eddie’s a nervous wreck. His bandmates were read the riot act from him and from Wayne. They all apologized to Steve at school, though he didn’t really accept them.

It didn’t give Eddie much hope at all.

He’s doing it anyway.

Robin put in the effort of getting Steve here, so he’s gotta do it.

“You know ‘em and sometimes like ‘em just fine…Corroded Coffin!”

The guys all go on stage ahead of him when the crowd starts cheering. He takes one more deep breath and follows.

Gareth counts them in and they play.

It’s good, maybe one of their liveliest crowds yet. He can’t see many of the faces, but he knows Steve’s there. He saw Robin’s shirt when the lights dimmed between the first song and the second. She wouldn’t stay if Steve left.

Jeff introduces them after the third song like always, but pokes a little fun at Eddie.

“Sorry about our guitarist being a bit moody. He’s feeling deeply emotional about love,” Jeff starts the next song before Eddie can argue.

It’s a great show.

Everyone’s having fun, even Eddie.

But then the guys all sip on water and it’s Eddie’s turn to introduce his song. The song for Steve.

“Hey everyone,” Eddie starts, awkwardly. He’s not usually like this on stage. “Got a new song tonight. I wrote this for someone who I don’t deserve, but who I care about a lot. I know he’s mad and he should be. It may not fix anything, but I hope he knows that I mean every word.”

Gareth’s drums are soft for this one, just there to keep the beat with Frankie on the bass. Jeff moved out of the spotlight, still playing rhythm, but keeping the attention on Eddie while he sings.

He sings about falling for someone unexpected, wanting to create a love story better than Shakespeare. He sings about the boy who wanted to discover the stars, and the boy who wanted to hold his hand while he did. He sang about not knowing that he was capable of this kind of love, and wanting to have it forever.

When the song ends, the crowd claps, but they clearly aren’t here for the romantic ballad he just sang.

He lets Gareth count in for the next song and they go back to the loud, chest-thumping music they usually play.

He doesn’t see Robin anymore, and he decides then that if Steve left, he did everything he could for now. He can’t be more sorry than he is and he can’t force Steve to think more of him.

“Good show guys,” Jeff says as they tear down the stage. All of them are responsible for their own equipment, but they also help out the bar manager by unplugging the electrical and rolling the wires when they’re done. “And a great job on your song, Eddie.”

“Thanks,” Eddie gives him a small smile as he closes his guitar case. “Don’t know if it worked.”

“It did.”

Eddie turns at Steve’s voice, nearly falling over when he sees how good Steve looks. He’s wearing a plain black t-shirt and ripped jeans, something outside of his norm, probably trying to fit in with this crowd a bit. Eddie wants to kiss him.

“Steve.” Eddie isn’t sure who’s talking, but it must be him because Steve’s looking at him with shining eyes and the same smile he always gave him when he looked like he wanted to hold his hand. “You’re here.”

“Robin insisted,” Steve admits, stepping closer to Eddie. “But then I told her to head home so I could talk to you.”

“Oh.”

Steve’s mouth lifts in a smirk for a moment before he schools his features again.

“So you wrote that song for me?”

“Yeah. Is it too much?”

Steve steps closer again, only a few inches separating them now. He shakes his head. “Not too much, no. Maybe just enough.”

“Enough for you to forgive me?”

“I might be on the path of forgiveness.” Steve touches his chest, palm over his heart. “But can I ask you something?”

“Anything. Whatever you want.”

“What were you hoping to happen when you made the bet?”

Eddie has to think about that. Of all the things he’s thought about, this isn’t one of them.

Steve waits for him, though. He’s patient. One of the many amazing things about him.

“I think I just wanted to be right about you,” Eddie finally admits.

Steve nods once. “A lot of people wanna assume things about me because of who my friends were a couple years ago, and who my parents are, and how I always dress nice and act like a bitch. It’s easier to just think I’m a bad person than think I have any depth at all. Especially in high school. Even though most of us are adults now, no one really acts like it.”

“I’m extremely immature. You should probably know that if you’re gonna forgive me,” Eddie says.

“You’re not as immature as you pretend to be at school,” Steve smiles. “I’ve seen you, Ed. I know the bad boy against the grain guy isn’t all you are.”

“And I know there’s a lot more to you than your pretty face, though that’s a bonus.”

Steve kisses him and the guys all cheer for him. He’s laughing against Steve’s mouth, waving one hand at the guys to make them leave.

“Robin said you were crying when you told her,” Steve whispers against his mouth.

“She’s a traitor.”

“So you were?”

Eddie sighs. “Yes, I cried. I hated how much I knew it would hurt you to find out the truth.”

“You still have to make it up to me a little,” Steve says.

“Oh yeah? How?”

“Well, I remember something in the song about worshiping me on your knees? Or was that a weird religious reference?”

Eddie kisses Steve again, smiling so much that their teeth clack against each other almost painfully.

“I’m an atheist,” Eddie replies.

“We’ve got a long night ahead of us then, don’t we?”

Eddie groans. “I still have to help load all our stuff-”

“Dude. You were forgiven by a guy who definitely could find better than you. We can handle the stuff. Consider it more of an apology for us being dicks, too,” Jeff interrupts.

Steve grabs Eddie’s shirt and tugs him along. “I’m not gonna tell them I forgive them until tomorrow.”

“Good idea.” Eddie looks down at the way Steve’s ass fills out the jeans he’s in. “On second thought, maybe next week sometime.”

[eveenstar]

we are the blood of the night | vampire!targtowers x human!reader

tags/warnings: manipulation, kidnapping, blood drinking, vampire AU, hints to sex, polygamous relationship, reader's gender is unspecified, helaegon strives, targcest, slight stockholm syndrome, 16+ read

note: can you tell i watched iwtv

note pt2: this is an old work, forgotten n abandoned in my drafts. Thought that might as well put it out there.

In the olden days....Well, maybe not so long ago. Perhaps a few months. A year, even? You weren't so sure anymore. Time seemed to move differently in the Targaryen Manor.

You were, once, the baker's child. You loved and were loved by all. You were your father's prized possession - "the best thing he'd ever done," said he. There wasn't another life for you. This was what you wanted, what you would spend an eternity doing if you could.

The bakery was in a small village in the outskirts of a forest, surrounded by mountains. A little community thriving under the lordship of Lord Aegon Targaryen and his siblings, Lord Aemond and Lady Helaena. No one ever saw them. Truth be told, they were as mythical as the white stag said to roam the forest. The whispers told that they were...sinful creatures, partaking in the darkest of rituals and magics - but starvation and plague hadn't harmed the village since Lord Aegon took over, and who were you to complain? They could do all they wanted behind their stone walls, as long as the village remained safe of their doings.

Which it did.

Until it didn't.

It started as a word, a mere whisper in the wind, travelling from ear to ear until it reached yours. A group of religious fanatics, proclaiming themselves to be prophets of the Seven, had begun cursing Aegon and his kin, claiming they were devils, and you, the poor few, were being manipulated by them.

We are all cursed to the Seven Hells, they screamed.

Of course, such words were soon to reach the siblings. For a few days, you thought nothing of it. Perhaps they didn't even care.

On the seventh night, you awoke with the screams of the damned. The fire that consumed the church reflected in your eyes as you ran outside, calling for your father. In his stead, you saw the burning flesh and melting faces of the so-called prophets and their believers. Amidst fire and smoke, Lord Aemond came riding on Vhagar, dragging behind the horse the perpetrator of such lies.

"Father!" You screamed, running out of his way and hiding behind some barrels. Little did you know, you would never see your father again.

Hearing your wails, Aemond dismounted his beast of a horse and pulled you by your arm to him. The tales about him didn't live up to the man before you. You swore it was a fallen angel, coming to drag you to hell with it.

The fire in his eye, his lips drenched in fresh blood that dripped down from his fangs, his long silver hair glimmering in the light of the moon. A devil, a fallen angel, a demon. Aemond Targaryen was all of these things and more.

He took you to the Manor that night. Even as you screamed and kicked, it was like you were a feather on the palm of his hand. He dragged you to his brother's feet, who seemed as confused as any, still wearing his nightgown.

"What is the meaning of this? Who gave you the order to attack our village?" Demanded Aegon.

Aemond snarled, his grip on your hair only tightening. "I merely maintained the integrity of our subjects, brother. They must be reminded of who they serve."

"And this?" Aegon motioned to you.

From the darkness, a voice spoke. Lady Helaena revealed herself. "A sacrificial lamb in a blood web."

Aemond shoved you to the floor, a somewhat proud look on his face. "Beloved child of the village. I wager they shall remain on their toes if they wish her...Well."

"Mother taught you better than play with food, Aemond." Reminded the older sister. "Especially if it's a female."

Play with food.

Were they...cannibals? No, no, there was something terribly wrong with the Targaryen siblings. Something dark and twisted that would reveal itself to you rather sooner than later. Something that would change your life for all eternity to come.

Helaena, sweet Lady Helaena, took you under her wing, away from her brothers. She was kind and sweet, bathing you in a golden tub and gifting you garments of the finest silk you could only dream of.

"What are they?" You'd ask, in a hushed voice. "You, I mean."

But in those few days, Helaena would only cup your cheek and speak in riddles. You could hardly understand her, and you found yourself wondering if that was intentional - to leave you in the dark, just for a little while longer. To have you wanting for knowledge, for the obscure truth that awaited you in the long hours of the night.

Back then, you rarely saw Aemond, but you heard Aegon. He was loud and boastful, but so under Helaena's thumb. Completely enamoured by his sister. You quickly understood that Aegon might be the Overlord, but it was Helaena pulling the strings. Without her, your village would've crumbled to fire and blood to the bloodthirsty brothers.

Then, at last, you came to a dreadful realization.

They weren't devils nor fallen angels. They were creatures of the night, doomed to an eternal life of youthfulness and beauty, ravishing in the nectar of the innocent. They were vampires.

"The village has understood your message, my Lord," you pleaded, "I won't tell anyone what you are. You have my word."

Aegon laughed until he realized you were serious. You knew their true nature. "Oh," He threw a glance to Helaena and Aemond. "The little bird knows our secret. What are we to do now?" Asked he, rhetorically.

Before you could reply, Aegon leaned on his throne. "You see, my young brother is eager to taste you. He might lie to himself," The white-haired Lord stood up and within a breath, was right in front of you, making you nearly stumble. "But I know he wishes to drain you dry of your..." One cold hand viced itself around your neck, like cold air. "Sweet youth."

Behind you, Aemond glared. How he despised being diminished to a pup, to have his brother mocking and taunting him like they were children.

"But, I say none of that." Aegon smiled, and you could finally breathe. "After all, we need the people on our side, and why waste such a beautiful face for only a few moments of ecstasy?" His attention shifted to his sister Helaena, to whom he smiled, sharp fangs glimmering in the pale light. "What do you say, love?"

Helaena hummed, tilting her head as she looked upon you. In her eyes, you saw not the lust or bloodthirst of the brothers, just a strange softness that seemed to draw you to her like a moth to a distant moon. You shook your head before you could get lost in her gaze.

"I quite like her."

Aegon clapped, "Wonderful! Then, it is set." He declared, holding your chin so your eyes were solely on his violet-reddish ones. "Be not afraid. We take very well of our...own."

And that was the night your fate was sealed, for better or worse. Alas, you have only seen the village from afar, only heard news of your father's thriving bakery. They were all alive, unlike your...you didn't know what to call the Targaryen siblings. In the months that issued your unwilling kidnapping, you found yourself living as a guest and not as a prisoner.

Aegon assured you that you could leave anytime you wanted, and although you were tempted to do so in certain nights, you... never went past the gates. Memories of Helaena's singing, Aegon's strange jokes, and Aemond's fleeting touches always drew you back in.

It wasn't so bad, after all. They hadn't drained you dry yet, had they? Just a few drops, here and there. Aegon would practically get drunk on your blood alone, and Helaena had to 'gently' persuade him back to her bed, to her blood.

Aemond was the strangest of the three. Unlike Helaena and Aegon, he preferred to watch you from the shadows, creeping in the corners of your peripheral vision, and shamelessly stare at you during supper. You, as the only human, were the only one eating actual food while the others fed on animal blood.

The one-eyed vampire seemed to thrive on making you uncomfortable.

It didn't take long to get used to their routine. Sleep during the day, live during the night. You were no servant; make no mistake. You were their 'guest', their....little adventure. From the finest of clothing to the ancient books and scrolls, all were gifted to you as a way to...thank you, for your most willing offer; your blood.

Oh, yes, the first bite had hurt. You still remember as if it were yesterday.

"They say eating cherries makes your blood taste sweeter," said Aegon in jest, "And pineapple makes your body smell better during sex."

You'd nearly choked on your food. "I...I'm sorry?"

"I heard a maiden say once." The Lordling leaned back on his cushioned chair. "Of course, she tasted neither like cherries nor smell like pineapple, but..." He threw a fanged smile your way. "A vampire shouldn't complain when his meal throws itself at him. Don't you agree, sweetling?"

"I..." You cleared your throat, glancing at Helaena for moral support. "Well, I never had a boar throw itself on my plate."

Aegon's booming laughter filled the hall as if you had told the funniest joke of all millennia. "Oh, she's funny, this one. I like her."

"You like all of them, dear brother." Said Aemond. A common thing, it was, for the brothers to be at each other's throats. You had witnessed a true fight between them once, but...that is a story for another time.

For now...Now you had to focus on how to survive three Targaryen vampires that were all too enamored with you.

[riboism]

haunted ═╬ act IV: the cat

♱ content tags: centuries old vampire! seonghwa x fem reader, vampire au, gothic romance, gothic horror, story takes place circa early 1900s, reincarnation, smut, angst, forbidden love, slowburn, lots of yearning, no happy ending, blood, satanism, animal cruelty, nosferatu/bram stroker’s dracula/edward scissorhands vibes

♱ a/n: sorry for being late with an update (depression sucks lol). I’ll try to be more consistent with the remaining parts. as always, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated.

♱ wordcount: 2.7k

↳ series masterlist

The rest of the morning felt off, as if your reality had begun to blur at the edges. Every time you wandered through the estate’s dimly lit hallways, the creak of the old wooden floors sent a strange sense of familiarity crawling up your spine. It was maddening, like the walls were whispering to you in a language you almost understood, their voices just out of reach.

You couldn't take it anymore. The strangeness of the Count, the mysteriousness of the estate, and the dreams—God, the dreams—had become too much to ignore. There had to be answers somewhere. Without another thought, you grabbed your winter coat and strode down to town, determined to find them.

By the time you reached the bank, you were breathless from the steep steps leading up to its grand entrance. Steadying yourself, you approached the front desk, where the same bank teller from before sat, her glasses perched low on her nose as she sorted through a stack of papers.

"Is Mr. Kang available?" you asked, still catching your breath.

She didn’t bother looking up. "Do you have an appointment?"

"Uh, no, but—"

"Mr. Kang is only available by appointment," she cut in flatly, flipping another page.

You clenched your fists, willing yourself to remain composed. "Please, it’s urgent. I don’t mind waiting."

This time, she lifted her gaze just enough to regard you with practiced indifference. "I’m sorry, but unless you have an appointment, I cannot help you."

Frustration simmered in your chest as you turned on your heel, ready to leave in defeat, until a familiar voice called out behind you.

"Miss Y/L/N!"

Relief flooded through you as you turned to see Mr. Kang hurrying toward you, his ever-present smile wide and warm. "I knew that was you! What brings you here?"

His friendliness was like a breath of fresh air. In a town like this, it felt good to have even the semblance of a friend. You smiled, grateful. "Good afternoon, Mr. Kang. Actually, I was hoping to talk to you about something."

"Of course," he said smoothly, placing a guiding hand on the small of your back as he led you toward his office. "Anything for a friend of a friend. I have a few minutes before my next meeting."

You cast a smug glance at the receptionist as you passed, satisfied with your small victory.

Once settled in Mr. Kang’s office, your eyes were immediately drawn to the painting you had delivered just days ago, now proudly displayed on the wall.

"Really livens up the place, doesn’t it?" he mused, following your gaze.

You nodded absently before shifting in your seat, sitting up straighter. "Actually, Mr. Kang, I came to ask about my employer."

Yeosang leaned forward slightly, his curiosity piqued. "Oh? Is this about his account? If so, I’m afraid I can’t discuss financial matters without his presence."

"No, no, it’s not that," you said quickly, hesitating as you tried to find the right words. Now that you were here, you realized you hadn’t exactly planned how to phrase your concerns without sounding ridiculous. "It’s more… personal. I suppose I’m just curious about his background. He’s very private, as you know, and since I’m living under the same roof as him, I just—well, I guess I’d like to be sure I’m not in any…"

"Danger?" Mr. Kang supplied, raising a brow.

The word felt too strong—maybe even rude—but you didn’t know how else to put it. After a beat, you gave a small nod.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "I understand your concern. I was worried the townspeople’s gossip might be getting to you. But I can assure you, Count Park is a good man."

Somehow, that wasn’t as reassuring as he probably intended.

"That said," he continued, "if you're looking for more information about him, I’m afraid I’ve already told you everything I know. Your best bet would be the town registry. They may have more records on his estate and lineage."

The town registry. The thought hadn’t occurred to you before, but now that he’d mentioned it, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something important could be waiting for you there.

After thanking Mr. Kang for his time, you set off toward the other side of town in search of the Town Clerk’s office. It was a bit of a trek for your tired feet, but your curiosity urged you forward. You weren’t even sure what you were expecting to find. Mr. Kang was right—Count Park was strange, yes, his habits somewhat odd, but he had never been unkind. He had done nothing to warrant this growing unease that had settled in your chest. And yet… something wasn’t right. You couldn’t shake the feeling, nor could you bring yourself to sleep another night in that castle without at least trying to uncover the truth.

The Town Clerk’s office was an old, run-down building. The doors barely held together, their hinges rusted and weak, and thick cobwebs clung to the corners of the entryway. The wooden floorboards groaned beneath your hesitant steps, kicking up the scent of dust and decay. The air was stale, tinged with something unpleasant. Behind the counter stood an older man, his posture slouched with the same disinterest you had received from the woman at the bank. He barely looked up as you approached.

"Hello," you greeted, keeping your voice low. "I’m here on behalf of… Count Park Seonghwa."

At the mention of his name, the man’s gaze snapped toward you.

"He’s my cousin," you lied, forcing a nervous chuckle. "He asked me to come down and request a copy of his records, as he’s thinking of moving soon. You see, he’s been quite sick and—"

The clerk didn’t seem to care for your fabricated sob story. Without a word, he turned around and pulled out a long, rickety drawer, his fingers skimming over aged documents. After a brief pause, he retrieved a worn file and handed it to you without so much as a glance.

"Thank you," you mumbled, taking the file gingerly. You wasted no time tucking it into your shopping bag. The sun was beginning to set, casting an eerie golden glow over the town, so you stepped back outside, eager to return to the castle before nightfall.

As you walked back up the path, something felt… off. The air had changed, thick with something heavy and foreboding. An unsettling silence blanketed the town, save for the distant murmurs of people gathered in small clusters. Their faces were drawn and grave, their voices tinged with fear and anger. As you drew closer, you noticed more dead cows strewn along the dirt roads, their bodies limp and lifeless, eyes wide open. The scent of rot and blood stung your nose.

People were no longer merely mourning their losses—they were furious.

"That bastard! First my sheep, now my cows—someone’s doing this on purpose!"

"You think I had anything to do with this? You’re out of your mind!"

"All of us are suffering! God has abandoned us! First the cattle, then who’s to say our crops next?"

"You heard the stories! It’s the devil’s work! I told you he was cursed!"

Their voices rose in hysteria, their rage spilling over into accusations hurled at one another. Some men had begun shoving, women whispering behind their hands, their eyes darting toward the looming silhouette of the Count’s estate in the distance.

A cold dread seeped into your bones. The shift in the air wasn’t just in your mind. Something was happening. The people were on edge, their patience worn thin. It didn’t take much to see where their anger was beginning to turn.

Your pulse quickened, panic setting in. You had to leave before anyone noticed you lingering. Pulling your coat tighter around you, you hurried up the path, your boots crunching against the gravel as you retreated toward the castle.

⸺

You busied yourself in the kitchen, hoping the rhythmic chopping of vegetables and the simmering pot on the stove would distract you from the unsettling events of the day. But your mind kept drifting—to the townspeople, their anger, the lifeless cattle, and most of all, the Count.

The sound of footsteps echoed through the hall. You turned, surprised to see him standing in the doorway, dressed immaculately as always, as if the night before had never happened. He looked almost… untouched, unaffected.

You studied him carefully, searching for any sign of weakness, any lingering trace of last night’s affliction. But there was none. His complexion was as perfect as ever, his posture poised, his expression neutral. If anything, he seemed even more put together than usual, as if whatever had weakened him had vanished without a trace.

"Good evening," he greeted, sounding well-rested, as if the last twenty-four hours had been nothing but a dream.

You hesitated before responding, gripping the wooden spoon in your hand a little tighter. "Good evening, Count." You swallowed, forcing your tone to remain casual. "How are you feeling?"

He tilted his head slightly, the faintest hint of amusement flickering in his dark eyes. "Why do you ask?"

You faltered. He was toying with you. "Well," you began carefully, "you were quite ill last night. I was worried."

"I was?" He stepped further into the kitchen, trailing his gloved fingers over the edge of the counter as he studied the meal you were preparing.

"You were coughing up blood," you pressed, watching his face closely. "You collapsed."

He leaned against the counter, as if trying to remember. "Ah yes…That must have been troubling for you."

Your lips parted in disbelief. What kind of response was that?

"It was more than troubling," you snapped, frustration seeping into your voice. "You nearly collapsed in my arms. I stayed with you the entire night, worried you wouldn't wake up."

His eyes softened, but not in the way you'd expected. It wasn’t gratitude, nor regret. It was something else—something knowing.

"And yet, here I am," he said smoothly. "Alive and well."

You narrowed your eyes. What was he doing? Why was he acting like this? Was he trying to play it off that nothing had happened last night, that somehow you were the delusional one? "That doesn't explain anything."

He sighed as if indulging a particularly stubborn child, then turned his gaze to the pot simmering on the stove. "What are you making?"

You scoffed, incredulous at the way he was so effortlessly dodging the conversation. "Clam chowder," you muttered, stirring the pot with a little more force than necessary.

"Smells lovely," he murmured, though his interest seemed distant. He looked at you then, his gaze lingering just a moment too long before he spoke again. "Thank you for your concern."

It was dismissive. A conversation-ender. And you hated it.

But more than anything, you hated how much he unsettled you. Because despite his feigned nonchalance, despite the way he refused to acknowledge what had happened… you knew he was hiding something. And you were going to find out what. 

⸺

As soon as you finished your nightly duties, you retreated to your room, locking the door behind you. Your body was exhausted, but your mind refused to rest. The weight of the documents in your lap felt heavier than paper should, as if they carried a truth too burdensome to bear.

You lit a candle, its flickering light barely illuminating the delicate, crumbling pages. The handwriting was difficult to decipher, the ink faded and the style archaic. You squinted, running your fingers over the words, tracing the loops and sharp angles in an attempt to piece together a story lost to time.

And then you saw it.

Park Seonghwa.

Your breath hitched. It was his name—unmistakably his, written in elegant script. You frowned, flipping through the pages, your heart pounding faster with every word you managed to make out. It was a marriage certificate.

This Certifies that Count Park Seonghwa & Lady Alya Were United In Marriage on the Seventh Day of June in the Year 1836. 

Your breath grew shallow. Eighty years ago. That was impossible. The Count was so young. He couldn’t have been married eighty years ago. He couldn’t have been alive eighty years ago, not looking the way he did now.

Your hands shook as you turned another page. There was no birth record for him, nothing to confirm when or where he had come into existence. It was as if he had simply appeared one day. You turned a few more pages, until you stumbled upon another document: 

Deed of Land. Let all men know and understand that as of the Third of February in the year 1621, Count Park Seonghwa is the true and original land owner of this following parcel: Lot 1117. The Interior of this land belongs to, and is under the control of Count Park Seonghwa. In the event of his passing, all rights and ownership herein shall be bestowed upon his lawful spouse, the Countess Ha-Rin.

None of what you read made any sense. You wondered if the ink had faded with time or if your weary eyes were simply deceiving you. Yet, no matter how many times you reread the words, the documents remained clear, official, and indisputable. A deep unease settled in your chest as you traced the elegant, aged script with your fingertips.

Just then, a brittle newspaper clipping slipped from the stack, fluttering to the floor. You leaned down, picking it up with trembling hands. The paper was fragile beneath your touch, its edges yellowed with time. Squinting, you carefully deciphered the small, faded text, your breath hitching as the words sank in.

A cold shiver ran down your spine as you read the details. It was about the fire. The west wing of the estate had burned to the ground, the family suffering one casualty. Lady Alya was 68 when she died. But as you scoured the pages for more, for proof, for confirmation, there was none. No death certificate. No record of her remains. Nothing.

You swallowed thickly, your fingers clamming as you reached the last document in the stack. It was a photograph, old and wrinkled. You brought it closer to the candlelight, and your breath left you in a sharp gasp.

It was her.

The old woman from your dream. The same hauntingly familiar face. The soft curve of her lips, the gentle slope of her nose, the sorrow lingering in her eyes—eyes that mirrored your own.

Your hands grew clammy, and the paper slipped slightly from your grasp. How was this possible?

The air in your room felt suddenly thick and suffocating. The candle flickered violently as a sudden gust of wind rattled the windowpane. And then—

Thump.

It came from outside. A strange shuffling, wet and guttural.

You hesitated, Count Park’s words echoing in your mind, his warning to never go outside at night. But your curiosity, your fear, your need to understand, overpowered your reason.

Slowly, you reached for your coat, draping it over your shoulders before stepping toward the door. You moved carefully down the hall, the manor eerily silent, save for the howling wind beyond the walls.

You stepped outside the castle. The night was colder than usual, the wind sharp against your skin. The moon cast a dim glow over the grounds, stretching shadows across the frost-covered earth. Your breath came out in quiet puffs as you followed the sound, your feet crunching softly against the gravel.

Then you saw it, the origin of the sound.

It was a dark figure crouched over something in the grass, its shoulders rising and falling with each grotesque movement. There was a sickening squelch, a wet tearing noise that filled the air. You felt your stomach churn as you took another step closer, a sudden crunch of the autumn leaves giving away your presence.

The figure’s head snapped up.

Your heart stopped.

It was him.

The Count.

But he wasn’t the man you knew.

His lips were stained red, fresh blood dripping from his chin. His eyes, normally dark and heavy, were an inhuman shade of crimson, glowing like embers in the night. His fangs, long and glistening, protruded from his parted lips. And in his grasp, limp and lifeless, was the body of a cat, its black fur matted with blood.

A choked gasp left your throat.

Count Park froze, his expression undecipherable, though something flickered in his monstrous gaze—something almost like regret.

But it was too late.

Your vision blurred. Your head spun.

And then, the darkness took you.

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act V: the fire ➜

[sherewrytes]

𝔹𝕣𝕠𝕜𝕖𝕟 ℙ𝕚𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕤, ℝ𝕪𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟 𝕊𝕦𝕜𝕦𝕟𝕒 9

↳ Sukuna x f! black reader

Summary: After the death of his grandfather, Sukuna Ryomen is left to shoulder the weight of his family, caring for his younger brothers, Yuuji and Choso. As he withdraws into grief, his relationship with Y/N, his girlfriend of a year, begins to crumble. When Y/N discovers the truth about his grandfather’s passing during a heated argument, it leads to a painful breakup. Now, both are navigating life apart, but Sukuna’s heart aches for Y/N. Determined to win her back, he must confront his pain and find a way to break through the walls he’s built. Can he rekindle their love, or is it too late?

contents: heavy angst, modern au, 18+, smut, dark romance, drug use, talks of depression and similar topics. (a lil )

fic warnings. ooc, profanity, mental health issues, toxic relationships, cheating, explicit smut, serious drug use, mentions of depression + more to be updated as story progresses.

Please read with proper discretion. this is a work of fiction. all characters are written to portray roles that are necessary to the plot and are in no way a reflection of their canon counterparts.

Taglist: @for-hearthand-home@clp-84@thelightknight21@favvkiki  @helightknight21 @dylsw @ria-s-writes @sleepymothafterhours  @sukunasstomachtongue @cosmic-lovr @imm0rtalbutterfly @kyo-kyo1

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Chapter 9: Death or Rebirth

I woke up in the hospital again. The sterile scent of antiseptic and faint beeping of machines told me where I was before I even opened my eyes. When I did, the first thing I saw was Yuuji sitting in the chair beside me. His head was bowed, shoulders slumped in a way that made him look so small—so broken—that my heart squeezed painfully in my chest.

I blinked hard, hoping I’d imagined him, and closed my eyes again, willing myself back to darkness.

The reprieve didn’t last long.

The door swung open, and I heard heavy footsteps—one set deliberate, the other storming with anger. I didn’t need to look to know who it was. Toji. I could practically feel the heat of his glare, his frustration filling the room like smoke. Satoru followed close behind, quieter, but I knew he was watching too.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Toji’s voice hit like a hammer, sharp and unrelenting. “This is twice now. Twice in barely two weeks. What are you trying to do, kill yourself?”

It was like the words tore something open inside me. Before I knew it, I was shouting back, my voice raw. “What if I am?” the words slipping out before I could stop them. My voice was raw, rough from everything I’d been bottling up. I didn’t care that he was pissed. Hell, I didn’t care about anything anymore.

The room went dead silent. I could feel the eyes on me—Yuuji, Satoru, Toji. They were all waiting for something. Waiting for me to break, to explain myself. But I wasn’t going to. I wasn’t going to give them that satisfaction.

Toji stepped forward, his face hard and unforgiving. “You’re not fucking with me like this, Sukuna. I get it, you’re in pain. We all are. But this—” he gestured around the room, his eyes burning with anger and something else, something softer that I wasn’t sure I wanted to see. “This isn’t the way to handle it. You’re hurting everyone around you, but especially Yuuji. You don’t get to keep doing this to him.”

I glanced at Yuuji, his face a mask of exhaustion and worry. His eyes were red, his posture slumped. 

He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve me.

But still, I couldn’t stop myself. The words came tumbling out like a dam breaking, uncontrollable and sharp.

“Maybe I don’t deserve anything, Toji. Maybe I don’t deserve him or any of you,” I muttered bitterly, turning away from them. “I’m just tired of everything. Tired of pretending.”

Satoru spoke up, his voice softer than usual, almost like he was trying to tiptoe around me. “We’re not asking you to pretend, Sukuna. We’re asking you to let us help. But you have to want it first.”

I scoffed, shaking my head. “Help? You think you can fix me? You can’t fix this, Satoru. No one can.”

“You’re right,” Toji cut in. “We can’t fix it for you. But we can help you get the fucking help you need.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and final. There was no escaping them. No escaping the reality of what I had to face.

I closed my eyes, the weight of everything pressing down on me. My mind was swirling, a chaotic mess of guilt, regret, and anger. But underneath it all was something else. Something softer. A flicker of hope.

A hope I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I whispered, my voice barely above a breath. “I don’t know how to fix myself.”

“You don’t have to do it alone,” Satoru said, his voice steady and reassuring.

I wanted to believe him. I really did. But the fear—the deep, gnawing fear that I was beyond saving—was louder than anything else.

“I don’t know if I can let anyone in again,” I muttered, my voice breaking. “Not after everything I’ve done. Not after what I’ve lost.”

Toji sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You don’t have to be perfect, Sukuna. Hell, none of us are. But you gotta stop running from it. From the people who care about you.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. I wanted to say something, anything, but the words felt stuck in my throat.

Yuuji finally spoke, his voice small but steady. “I just want you to be okay, Sukuna. We all do.”

His words hit me harder than anything else. I wanted to lash out, to say something cutting and cruel. But I couldn’t. Not this time.

I didn’t have the strength to keep pushing everyone away anymore.

I shot up off the bed, my heart racing, the anger and fear bubbling to the surface. "I'm not going," I spat, voice shaky but defiant. I wasn’t about to let them control me. Not again.

Satoru’s eyes narrowed, his patience thinning. "Don't do this, Sukuna," he warned, stepping forward, his voice steady but carrying the weight of an unspoken truth. "It's gonna make shit worse if you keep this up."

I took a step back, my chest tightening, the overwhelming flood of emotions crashing over me. 

I can’t go. 

The idea of being locked away, stripped of my choices, made my skin crawl. "I said no. I don't need any of that shit."

Toji, who had been standing in the corner, arms crossed and eyes focused, now moved closer. His voice was low, but the authority in it made me stiffen. "You need help, whether you like it or not. You’re pushing everyone away, and it’s not gonna end well if you keep doing this."

"I don't care," I muttered, my hands trembling as I balled them into fists. "I don’t care what any of you think. Just leave me alone."

Satoru’s eyes softened, but his tone was firm. "You're not okay, and you're not handling this alone. You need help, even if you don't want it. We're doing this for you, not to you."

I was shaking now, not from the cold or the exhaustion, but from the weight of the truth they were forcing on me. My mind was a blur of thoughts, and the words felt like they were tearing me apart.

I locked eyes with Toji. "You think I want this? You think I want to be like this?!" The words spilled out before I could stop them. "I hate it. I hate everything about myself right now, but I'm not going to some fucking psych ward."

Toji didn’t back down. "Then what the hell do you think you're doing? You’re just running, hiding from it all."

I turned away, unable to look at him anymore. "I'm not running," I whispered, my voice cracking. "I just... I don’t know how to face it. How to face all of this."

Satoru stepped in closer, his voice quiet but insistent. "We don't have to force you, Sukuna. But we will take you there if it means you'll get better."

I closed my eyes, swallowing hard. I wanted to scream, to fight, to push them all away. But there was something deeper—something broken inside me—that knew they were right.

I didn’t have a choice, not really.

I stared at them, my mind a mess of anger and fear, the words I wanted to say, the words I needed to say, stuck in my throat. My fists clenched at my sides, the tension building as I looked at Satoru, Toji, and now Geto, who had just strolled in. The weight of their gazes felt suffocating.

I wanted to scream at them, tell them to leave me the hell alone, but my voice was low, barely a whisper. "I'm not some head fuck, man," I muttered, my eyes flicking to the floor. "I’m..." I trailed off, unable to finish.

Geto’s voice cut through the silence. "You’re an addict with mental health problems, Sukuna. You need help. You know this."

I shot him a look, feeling my insides twist. 

Of course they would say that. 

They were all on the same page, ganging up on me. They didn’t know. They didn’t get it.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but all that came out was a pained laugh. "I’d rather join Jin than do that," I said, the words slipping from my mouth before I could stop them. The thought hung in the air, dark and suffocating. The weight of my brother’s death—the guilt that had eaten me alive ever since—made it feel like the only way out.

The room went still, the tension thick. I could see the shock on their faces, but I didn’t care. Maybe they’d finally understand me.

Satoru’s voice broke the silence, his tone more forceful now. "You don’t have a choice, Sukuna." He stepped closer, his eyes locked on mine. "They’ve done up the paperwork. You’re going whether you like it or not."

I felt like the walls were closing in on me. 

This wasn’t my decision anymore. 

They had made it for me. It didn’t matter what I wanted or how much I fought against it—they were forcing me down a path I couldn’t escape from.

I opened my mouth to protest again, but the words died in my throat. I looked at them—their faces filled with concern and frustration—and realized they weren’t trying to control me. They weren’t trying to hurt me. They were trying to save me.

But I didn’t want saving.

 I didn’t want any of this.

I just wanted to be left alone, to disappear into the darkness.

I scanned the room frantically, my mind racing.

 I need to get out of here. 

The walls were closing in, the sterile white room suffocating me, and I couldn't breathe. I couldn’t stand the feeling of being trapped, controlled. I had to leave. Now.

I pushed myself off the bed, my legs shaky but determined. I stumbled toward the door, but before I could get more than a few steps, a heavy hand landed on my shoulder. 

Toji.

"Sit down, Sukuna," his voice was low, firm, and I could feel the weight of his hand as he gently but forcefully pushed me back toward the bed. He wasn’t letting me leave. Not like this.

I whipped my head around, my eyes locking with Gojo’s. His usual confident smirk was replaced by something closer to concern—something I wasn’t ready to deal with. He stood beside Toji, blocking my escape, both of them creating an impenetrable wall.

Yuuji was still in the corner of the room, staring at me. His face was a mix of disbelief and hurt, and I could see the silent question in his eyes. 

Why are you doing this, Sukuna?

I didn’t answer him. I couldn’t. I wasn’t doing this for anyone else. I was doing it because I had nothing left.

“Geto,” Yuuji finally spoke, his voice breaking the silence, “What’s going on? What’s happening to him?”

Geto sighed, his tone calm but with an edge I hadn’t heard before. “Yuuji, just step outside for a second. We need to talk.”

Yuuji shook his head, his hands clenched into fists. “I’m not going anywhere. He’s my brother. I’m not leaving him like this.”

A nurse walked into the room at that moment, sensing the tension. She glanced from Toji and Gojo to Geto and Yuuji, clearly trying to assess the situation. Her eyes flicked to me, and her face softened in sympathy, but there was something in her gaze that made me feel like a caged animal. “Is everything alright in here?” she asked, her voice tentative.

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t.

The room felt like it was spinning, the lights blurring at the edges of my vision. I wanted to scream, to push everyone away. I wanted them to leave me alone. 

Just let me go.

Toji’s voice broke through the haze. “Get the staff to check on him. We need to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

I looked up at him, my vision blurring once again. “I’m fine,” I muttered, though I knew I wasn’t. I wasn’t fine. I hadn’t been fine in months.

Gojo took a step forward, his eyes narrowed, though the concern was still there. “Sukuna… Don’t do this. You know they’re just trying to help you.”

But it didn’t feel like help. It felt like a trap. A cage.

I looked around the room again, my mind screaming for a way out. But there was no escape. Not now. Not here.

I stood there frozen, my chest tight, heart pounding in my ears.

 I need to get out. 

Every part of me screamed to run, but I couldn’t even move my legs. It was like they were chained to the floor, heavy, useless.

The nurse, who had stepped back to give some space, looked at me with sympathy in her eyes, but it wasn’t the kind of sympathy I wanted.

 I didn’t want anyone’s pity.

 I wanted to be left the hell alone.

Gojo stepped closer, his gaze firm but tinged with something softer beneath the surface. "Sukuna... don’t make this harder than it has to be," he said, his voice steady, though I could tell he was trying to keep his own frustration in check. I could feel the tension radiating off of him and Toji, both of them not budging an inch. The walls were closing in. There was no way out.

I finally broke my silence, my voice rough, like it was being dragged out of me. "You don’t get it," I spat. “I don’t need your fucking help. I need to get out. I don’t belong here.”

Gojo’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t back off. "Yeah, well, we’ve all been there. But that’s not what’s happening now, Sukuna." He shot a glance at Toji, who was still silently standing guard, his arms crossed, a sharp look in his eyes. "You don’t get a say in this. You’re going to the psych ward."

My chest tightened further at the words.

 Psych ward. 

The idea of being stuck in there, being forced to confront all this… pain, this guilt, this fucking endless spiral of shit—it made my stomach churn. The walls of the room seemed to get even tighter, the air thinner.

“No.” I gritted out, voice low and trembling with anger. “I won’t go.”

Toji’s hand landed on my shoulder again, the pressure grounding but suffocating at the same time. "You’re not in a position to make demands right now, Sukuna," he said, his voice surprisingly calm, but the weight of his words hit me like a punch in the gut.

I tried to jerk away from him, but my body betrayed me. My muscles were too weak, too drained. 

I couldn’t fight back anymore.

Yuuji stepped forward, his voice breaking through the tension in the room. “Please, Sukuna,” his eyes were filled with raw emotion. "I don’t want to lose you. You’ve gotta let us help you.”

I looked at him, and it felt like a knife was twisting in my chest. Yuuji was my brother—he had every right to be angry, to be upset. But I couldn’t handle his concern, his desperate need for me to be something I couldn’t be. Something I didn’t know how to be anymore.

He doesn’t understand.

"I don’t need your help, Yuuji," I muttered, the words tasting bitter as they left my mouth. "I’m just a fucking mess. I’m not who you think I am."

Yuuji flinched like I’d slapped him, and I immediately regretted saying it. But it was too late. The damage was done.

Toji’s voice broke the silence again, more forceful this time. “You need to face the truth, Sukuna. You’ve been running from it for too long. All of us have seen it. We’re not going to let you destroy yourself anymore. Not like this.”

I stared at Toji, fury mixing with a deep, hollow emptiness inside me. “And what if I don’t want to be saved, huh? What if I don’t give a shit anymore?”

The silence that followed was suffocating. I could see it in their eyes. They were worried. They were angry. But most of all, they were disappointed. And I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t bear the idea of letting them down.

I turned my back to them, stepping toward the far side of the room, a tear slipping from my eye that I didn’t even realize had fallen.

 I had no place to go.

 I didn’t know what I was even fighting for anymore.

Kenjaku’s voice came then, steady and calm, the kind of tone that always felt like he was looking at me like I was some puzzle he hadn’t figured out yet. "You’re going, Sukuna. It’s not up for discussion. Do you think this is some kind of joke?"

I clenched my fists, trying to steady my breath, trying to stop the world from spinning. I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to face this. I didn’t want to be seen.

 But they weren’t leaving me any choice.

“I’m not going to make it out of this,” I muttered, almost to myself. “I can’t.”

But no one heard me. They were already planning, already moving in to take control of my life. And I hated it. I hated feeling this powerless.

I couldn’t run. I couldn’t hide anymore.

“I swear, if you force this on me, I’ll make it my mission to be worse off,” I spat, my voice shaking with equal parts defiance and exhaustion. The words echoed in the room like a dare, and for a moment, no one said anything.

I didn’t even see Choso walk in.

The first thing I felt was his fist slamming into my face, my head snapping to the side from the force of it. Pain exploded across my cheek, and before I could process it, another hit followed, sharper, harder.

“You’re so determined to kill yourself? Then do it, Sukuna!” Choso’s voice roared, loud enough to drown out the sound of blood rushing in my ears. His breath was ragged, his face twisted in fury.

The pain from Choso’s fist hitting my face was sharp, but it was almost a relief. It snapped me out of the haze I’d been sinking into. I staggered back, feeling the sting of the impact across my cheek. My head throbbed, and for a moment, all I could hear was the ringing in my ears. But his words, those cut deeper than any punch ever could.

“You’re worthless. You don’t mean shit.”

It was like the truth was slapping me in the face over and over again, and for the first time in weeks, I let myself feel it. 

Finally, someone who understands.

I stood there, dazed, not sure how to react. I was pissed, but part of me felt... liberated by the anger Choso had thrown at me. Maybe he was right. Maybe I was beyond saving. Maybe all this fucking pain and guilt I kept drowning myself in... was deserved.

Was I really just wasting everyone’s time?

I looked at Choso, who was standing there, his fists clenched at his sides, his chest heaving with the emotion that mirrored mine. There was something cold and final in his gaze, a kind of resignation I couldn’t ignore.

"You think you’re the only one hurting?" Choso’s voice was low, but there was a tremor in it, like he was holding back more than just anger. "You think you’re the only one who’s lost someone? You’re not. But you’re fucking pathetic if you think you’re the only one with a reason to fall apart."

His words hit harder than the punch, and for a second, it felt like I was being gutted. He was right. Everyone was hurting—Yuuji, Choso, all of them. And here I was, selfishly drowning in my own misery, shutting them out.

But then, something twisted in my gut.

 I didn’t care.

I couldn’t care about their pain when I didn’t even know how to handle my own anymore. Why should I fix myself for them?

"You don’t get it," I spat, trying to steady myself, but my legs were shaky, and my head was still reeling from the blow. "You think I give a shit about any of that? I don’t. I’m done pretending."

Choso took a step closer, his voice dropping to a threatening whisper. “Then do it. End it. I won’t stop you. But don’t expect anyone to fucking care when you do.”

The words hit hard—harder than they should’ve, because they forced me to think about everything.

 What if I really did end it?

 What would they think? What would Yuuji think? What about... Y/N?

Would she be better off without me?

The thought lingered, and I felt a hollow pit open up in my chest. The anger that had surged through me now dulled, leaving a cold emptiness behind.

I wanted to fight back. I wanted to snap at Choso, to tell him he was wrong, that he didn’t understand. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. 

Because a part of me knew he was right.

 I was at the edge, and I didn’t even know if I wanted to step back.

Toji, Gojo, and Kenjaku stayed silent for a moment, watching the exchange unfold. It was clear they didn’t want to get involved in this—this raw, ugly part of me that I tried so hard to hide from them. I wanted to break, wanted to shatter in front of them, but I couldn’t.

"You’re gonna regret this," I muttered, feeling the familiar spiral of helplessness and anger closing in again. "All of you. You’re gonna regret trying to save me."

Choso just stood there, his eyes unwavering, like he was daring me to push him away. "I don’t give a shit if you regret it or not, Sukuna," he said, voice cold. "But know this: you’ll never be free if you keep running from everything, including yourself."

The room was quiet for a moment as those words hung in the air, heavy with truth. I wanted to scream, to shout that I didn’t need this shit, didn’t need any of them. But instead, I stood there, frozen, caught between the desire to escape and the reality that I didn’t know how to anymore.

It was like I was being torn apart, each side of me pulling in a different direction. One part of me wanted to run, to escape the people who cared too much, who expected too much. And the other part… the other part just wanted to be understood, to finally let go of the pain that had been eating at me for so long.

Maybe I was just too broken to be fixed.

Choso’s words echoed in my mind, and as much as I hated to admit it, they stuck with me. I couldn’t keep running.

The cold, sterile walls of the psych ward felt like they were closing in on me.

 Two weeks. 

Two weeks of confinement. Two weeks of therapy sessions that felt more like forced interrogations than healing.

I sat in the same shitty chair, staring at the therapist in front of me, who was droning on about my "emotions" and "coping mechanisms" like I actually gave a damn. Her voice was just background noise, blending into the constant ringing in my ears. The withdrawal symptoms were unbearable—my skin felt too tight, my stomach twisted into knots, and the restless energy in my veins made it impossible to sit still for long.

"You’ve been here for 24 hours, Sukuna," she said, tapping her pen against her notepad. "How are you feeling?"

How the fuck do you think I feel?

I gritted my teeth, trying to keep my composure, but the sharp ache in my chest threatened to spill over. "I feel like shit," I muttered, shifting in my seat, wishing for a fucking cigarette. Anything to take the edge off.

She didn’t flinch. “What’s bothering you the most right now?”

Everything.

 The question was almost laughable. The cravings, the guilt, the loneliness... the constant feeling of being trapped in my own mind. But I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of knowing all that.

“I just wanna go,” I said, my voice low, desperate. “I need to get out of here.”

She scribbled something on her notepad, her expression neutral. “I understand that this is difficult, but you’re here for your own safety, Sukuna. You’ve made it clear that you’ve been struggling with self-destructive behavior and substance abuse. We need to work through that.”

I rolled my eyes, though my hands were trembling slightly, betraying me. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard this shit before.”

The therapist leaned forward, her voice soft but firm. “Have you been feeling any suicidal thoughts since you arrived here?”

The question hit like a punch to the gut, the reminder of how far I’d fallen in such a short time. 

Am I still suicidal? 

I didn’t know anymore. The numbness in my chest made it hard to feel anything at all, but the constant pull to just give in, to end it all, never fully left.

“I don’t know,” I finally muttered, trying to avoid her gaze. “Maybe. I just wanna get out.”

Her silence was suffocating, as though she was trying to read into every word, every movement. “I know it’s tough right now,” she said, breaking the stillness. “But the important thing is that you’re here. You’re taking the first step toward getting better.”

Better?

 The thought was almost laughable. Could I ever really get better?

I didn’t respond. Instead, I looked at the clock on the wall, counting down the seconds until this session would finally be over.

 Two weeks. I can’t do two weeks.

Just as the session was about to end, I leaned forward, my voice almost pleading. “Listen, I don’t need therapy, I just need to get out. I don’t belong here.”

The therapist didn’t even flinch. She stood, signaling the end of the session. “I think we’re done for today. We’ll talk more tomorrow. And remember, Sukuna, you’re not alone in this. You don’t have to do it all by yourself.”

I could feel the anger bubbling inside me again, but I swallowed it down. 

I don’t need help.

 I didn’t care what they thought or what they were trying to force on me. I wasn’t one of them. I wasn’t some broken kid looking for someone to fix him.

As I walked out of the room, I could feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on me. The staff, the patients—everyone in this goddamn place. But it didn’t matter.

 I’m not staying here.

I was already planning my escape.

I walked into the common area, the sterile, off-white walls feeling like they were closing in on me with every step. The soft hum of fluorescent lights above, the distant murmurs of people talking, the occasional clink of something being set down—it all felt so... lifeless.

I could see a few patients scattered around the room, some playing cards, others half-heartedly flipping through magazines. The smell of disinfectant mixed with the faint scent of sweat from someone who had probably been in this place too long. I hated it here. Everything about it. But I had no choice. Not yet.

I could head over to the piano in the corner, its dark wood calling to me with a promise of something familiar, something I could lose myself in. But the idea of sitting there, forcing my fingers to move across the keys in some mechanical way—it didn't feel right. The music wasn't a relief anymore, just another reminder of everything I used to enjoy before I fucked it all up.

I glanced at the group of people in the corner, playing cards. There was an older man who looked like he’d seen better days, a young woman with wild eyes who kept glancing at the clock, and a guy who looked like he had just crawled out of a hole—scruffy, disheveled, probably on something.

Do I really want to talk to them?

The answer was simple. No, I didn’t care about their stories, their issues. I was here because I had to be, not because I wanted to make friends with anyone who couldn’t get their shit together either. They all seemed like they were here for their own reasons, their own battles. And that’s all they were to me—battles. I didn’t need more.

Instead, I leaned against the wall and folded my arms, staring out the window at the dull, overcast sky. It felt like everything was bleeding together, just a blur of nothingness. I was just another fuck-up, stuck in the same cycle, same pain.

I was still trying to figure out how I ended up here, why the hell I had to be the one to go through this.

Then, I heard the shuffle of footsteps behind me. 

Fuck.

I didn’t need anyone talking to me right now. I didn’t want to deal with anyone, least of all some well-meaning idiot who thought they could help me. But when I turned around, I saw her.

It was Y/N. Her presence hit me like a punch to the chest.

She didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, her gaze locked on me. The last time I saw her... well, it wasn’t good.

What the hell was she doing here?

I swallowed hard, the dryness in my throat making it even harder to breathe. She looked the same, just as beautiful as always, but there was something in her eyes—something that made it impossible for me to hide from the weight of everything I had done.

"You're here..." I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N stood there for a moment, her eyes searching mine, like she was trying to figure out whether I was even worth talking to. I couldn’t blame her—who in their right mind would want to deal with someone like me?

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, her gaze dropped to the floor, and I could see the hesitation in her posture. She was torn between walking away and facing the wreck that I had become. I didn’t deserve her attention, not now, not after everything. I could feel myself spiraling again, that familiar pull to shut everything down, to turn it all off.

But then she spoke.

"I came to see how you're doing." Her voice was quiet, soft, almost like she was afraid of what she'd find. "I heard about what happened... after you left."

I rolled my eyes, trying to hide the way her words hit me. She didn’t get it. 

No one gets it.

"You shouldn't have come," I muttered, shaking my head. "You should be anywhere but here, Y/N. I’m a fucking mess, and you don't need to be around for any of this."

She took a step closer, her expression unwavering, like she didn’t believe a single word I was saying. "I’m here because... because I care," she said, each word laced with a kind of tenderness I didn’t deserve. "And I think you know that."

Care? 

I almost laughed at the thought. 

How could she care about me when I couldn’t even care about myself?

"Don’t, Y/N. Don’t do this," I said, my voice shaking despite my best effort to sound indifferent. "You can’t save me. No one can. I’m too far gone for that."

She was quiet for a beat, and I could see the conflict in her eyes—the desire to help me, to pull me out of this dark hole I’d dug myself into, and the realization that maybe she was too late. But then she spoke again, this time with more conviction.

"I’m not trying to save you," she said. "I just want you to know that you’re not alone. No matter how fucked up everything is, you don’t have to face it by yourself. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere."

I couldn’t breathe. The words hit me harder than anything else had since I’d been locked in this place. I didn’t deserve her loyalty. I didn’t deserve any of this. But here she was, standing in front of me, offering something I wasn’t sure I could accept.

"You don’t have to do this," I said again, my voice almost pleading. "You don’t owe me anything."

She shook her head. "I’m not doing it because I owe you, Sukuna. I’m doing it because... I want to."

There was a long silence between us. The kind of silence that made everything in the room feel impossibly heavy, like the weight of my past was suffocating me. I didn’t know what to say to her. I didn’t know if I could even let myself believe she was serious.

But in that moment, as I stood there, trying to process everything she had just said, I realized something I hadn’t let myself acknowledge before.

Maybe she was the one thing I could hold onto.

But I couldn’t say that. Not yet.

I turned away, rubbing my face with both hands, trying to clear the clouded thoughts in my head. I couldn’t get caught up in this. I couldn’t let her in, not after everything I’d done.

"I don’t know what you want from me," I muttered, my voice barely audible. "But I’m not gonna get better. Not like this. Not here."

She didn’t respond right away, but I could feel her standing there, still watching me. I could almost hear the thoughts racing through her mind, trying to figure out the next move. I didn’t make it easy for her, did I?

"You don’t have to be perfect," she finally said, her voice quiet but steady. "You just have to try. And you have to let people help you. You don’t have to do this alone."

I closed my eyes, fighting the tightness in my chest. My hand gripped the edge of the piano, and I tried to steady myself, not wanting to let the weight of her words drag me under. But it was getting harder to keep pretending that I didn’t care.

She really did care.

And maybe—just maybe—I needed to start caring too.

When I opened my eyes again, she was still there, waiting for me to say something, anything. But I couldn’t. Not yet.

Instead, I looked at her and nodded, though I didn’t say a word. It was all I could do.

Maybe this was the first step. And maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t completely beyond saving.

Y/N’s expression faltered for a brief moment, her lips parting like she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. She just stared at me, her eyes searching for any sign of weakness, some crack in the armor I was desperately trying to keep up. But I wouldn’t let her see it. Not now.

Her jaw tightened, and for a split second, I thought she might argue. I thought she might try to push through whatever wall I’d just erected. But instead, she nodded slowly, as though my words had made some kind of final sense. 

Maybe she finally realized that I was too far gone.

"I’m not gonna fight you on this, Sukuna," she said quietly. Her voice had lost its softness, the warmth draining out of it as if I had sucked all of it out. "But if you ever change your mind... if you ever stop pushing everyone away..." Her voice cracked slightly, but she cleared her throat, steadying herself. "You know where to find me."

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t.

I just watched as she turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing in the quiet of the room.

Good. Let her go.

The moment she left, the weight in my chest didn’t lift. If anything, it grew heavier. But I didn’t want to admit it. I couldn’t.

I’d pushed her away, just like I’d pushed everyone else away. 

But what if I really did need her?

No.

I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking the thought from my mind. I couldn’t afford to think like that. Not now. Not when everything was falling apart.

Maybe one day I’d wake up and realize I made the wrong choice. But that was a problem for future Sukuna. Right now, I need to get through the day.

I walked over to the piano, my fingers grazing the keys. My body was aching, the withdrawal pulling at me, making every movement feel like it took twice as much effort as it should. But I kept going. I had no other choice.

I couldn’t afford to care. Not about her. Not about anything.

I got up from the piano after a long moment of playing

I needed a smoke, anything to take the edge off. I was approached by this weird chick. I think I know her from high school.

 Selene.

 She strolled up to me with her bubbly ass voice. “I got the plug in here.”  I smiled “ In here people are dealing shit. Wild shit. What you got?” “Whatever you need.” She watched me with a smile. 

I found myself sitting there in her room, the dim light casting long shadows on the walls, I could feel the rush of anticipation building in me.

 I’d hit rock bottom a thousand times before, but this felt different.

 A part of me told me that I was spiraling deeper, that this wasn’t just a bad habit anymore—it was my new reality. But I didn’t care.

Selenr was sitting on the bed, her hands busy with something I didn’t quite pay attention to. She was talking, but I barely registered the words, too focused on the dull ache in my muscles and the gnawing emptiness inside me that only the thought of drugs could fill. 

She said whatever you need, and I needed something to take the edge off.

I let my fingers drum absently against my thigh, my eyes trained on her as she pulled out the little bag and spread the contents on the table. She looked at me, a smirk on her lips.

"You sure you want to go down this road?" she asked, a playful tone in her voice. But there was a look in her eyes—something knowing, like she could see through the mask I wore every damn day.

I didn’t respond. I didn’t need to. She could see it too—the exhaustion, the desperation, the parts of me that had long given up.

 Selene knew the deal.

 We’d crossed paths before, back in high school. We never really hung out, but I knew her type—dangerous, alluring, and always just a step away from trouble.

She slid me a couple Xanax in front of me, and I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed it, the familiar coolness of the tablet comforting in my hand.

"You should really think about rehab," she said, her voice suddenly serious, cutting through the fog of my thoughts.

I chuckled darkly, shaking my head. "And do what? Sit around and pretend everything’s fine?" My words came out sharp, but the pain underneath them felt deeper than any of the substances I could take. 

What the hell was I supposed to fix?

She didn’t answer. Instead, she just sat there, watching me with those cold eyes, her own hands working to prepare the next dose. There was a tension in the room now, like the air was thick with the weight of everything I was avoiding—everything I had been avoiding for so long.

I popped the pill in my mouth without a second thought, the bitterness lingering in my throat as I swallowed.

For a second, the world stopped spinning.

The tightness in my chest eased, the gnawing anxiety slipping away as the drugs started to work their magic. I leaned back against the bed, letting the wave of relief wash over me. Everything was quieter now. I didn’t feel the need to think. I didn’t feel the need to be anything other than numb.

Selene looked at me, her lips curling into a satisfied grin. "There you go," she said softly. "See? It’s not so bad."

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. The Xanax was already working its way through my system, leaving a dull haze in its wake.

Maybe I didn’t need to fix anything. Maybe it was easier to stay broken.

As I sat there, fading in and out of lucidity, I thought about Y/N again.

 I shouldn’t have pushed her away. 

But it was too late now, wasn’t it? I didn’t deserve her, not with the mess I’d become.

And yet, that thought lingered—like a whisper in the back of my mind

As I leaned in and kissed Selene, something about it felt off—yet familiar. 

Maybe it was the Xanax, or maybe it was the desperate need to feel something, anything that wasn’t the weight of my own brokenness. 

Her lips were soft, and for a second, everything seemed quieter. The chaos, the guilt, the voices in my head—they all faded into the background, leaving just the feeling of her against me.

She kissed me back, but it wasn’t passionate or full of fire. It was numb, like we were both just going through the motions, seeking solace in something temporary. I couldn't help but wonder if she felt the same way, if this kiss was just another escape for her too.

I pulled away, breathless, but not from desire. From the haze. The drug was starting to sink deeper into my system, and my head was swirling in a way that made everything seem surreal.

"You're not even here, are you?" Selene whispered, a slight smile playing on her lips, as if she could see right through me.

I didn’t answer, just stared at her, barely registering her words. 

What the fuck was I doing?

This wasn’t who I was. Or maybe it was. Maybe the version of me that existed now was just a reflection of my choices. My actions.

I stood up, stepping back from her, trying to shake off the fog that had settled over me. 

I wasn’t supposed to be here, not like this.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice a little softer now, a little more concerned.

I didn’t answer. Instead, I moved towards the door, my legs unsteady as I tried to walk it off. I felt a strange urgency, like I needed to be somewhere, anywhere but here.

I couldn’t stay here with her. Not when I couldn’t even face myself.

I stumbled out into the hallway, leaving Selene behind. The high was starting to wear off, and with it came the reality of what I was running from.

Fuck this shit. Screw everything. I didn’t know how to fix myself.

I trudged back to my room, the sterile walls closing in around me as I stepped inside. The quiet was suffocating, and I hated it. No distractions, no escape, just the sound of my own breath and the distant hum of the building.

I looked around, trying to find something—anything—that could give me some sense of comfort, but all I saw was a bland, lifeless space that mirrored how I felt inside. I threw myself onto the bed, face-first into the pillow, wishing I could just disappear into the fabric, escape from everything that weighed on me.

I didn't even have my phone.

 I hadn't realized until now how much I depended on it for distractions, to avoid the overwhelming silence. There was nothing here but me, my thoughts, and the suffocating guilt.

I tried to push it all away, close my eyes, and force myself to sleep, but the memories came flooding back—the loss of Jin, my grandfather, the people I pushed away, the mistakes I couldn’t undo. I was fucking drowning in it.

I let out a frustrated sigh and buried my face deeper into the pillow. 

Why am I even still here?

Every part of me screamed to leave, to do something, anything, to break free from this place, from the weight of what I’d done to myself. But there was nowhere to run anymore.

The silence of the room pressed in around me, the guilt festering. 

What did I even expect to happen?

I wanted to get out of here. I wanted to go back to the chaos, the distractions, the numbness. Anything to avoid the reality that I was falling apart. But I couldn't. Not yet.

And so, I lay there, feeling the walls close in on me, waiting for whatever came next—whether it was the release of sleep or the crushing weight of everything I'd lost.

[lillaydee]

The Unlucky One Part 4

Joel Miller (No Outbreak AU) / F Reader

When it comes to love, Lady Luck seems to have lost your address. After being left at the altar without so much of an explanation, you decided love is no longer something you are interested in. Not even meeting an unlucky-in-love-himself Mr. Grump could change your mind.

Right?

Let me know if you want to be tagged, or if you want to be removed from the tag list.

WARNINGS: Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Good Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Soft Joel (The Last of Us), Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Hurt Joel (The Last of Us), Grumpy Joel (The Last of Us), Jealousy, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Idiots in Love, unlucky in love, Child Abandonment, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Alternate Universe - No Cordyceps Outbreak (The Last of Us)

@peelieblue, @vickie5446, @harriedandharassed, @lovefreylove @martuxduckling @kikookii

SERIES MASTER LIST

Part 3

---

You shut the door to your room and put the door bell and room phone on DND. You felt dirty. You practically tore your clothes off your body and flung them in the trash can. You went into the bathroom and proceeded to take the longest shower you had ever taken in your life, scrubbing any remnants of him off your body, trying hard to get the fact that he was the best sex of your life out of your head.

He’s not single. He had someone. Someone called Tess. His ‘baby’, whom he said ‘I love you’ to. Right after waking up from rounds of mind-blowing sex with you.

‘Maybe she’s family,’ your heart coaxed, ‘People say I love you to non-romantic people in their lives too, you know. You say it to your Dads, to Kyle, to Ethan, so maybe this Tess is just someone really close to him? Kyle calls you ‘baby’ sometimes, Ethan too, so maybe it’s the same for him?’

Your mind scoffed. ‘If that were the case, why did he hide out on the balcony?’

‘Maybe he just didn’t want to wake us up!' your heart defended.

SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!

You sat with your knees up to your chest under the shower, temperature turned up, the hot water boiling you alive, but you needed it. You needed your skin to feel raw. Numbed. Get rid of all these ghosts that were crawling all over – the feel of his scruff on your skin, his calloused hands, his lips, his tongue, his girth…

You were the other woman. You were that woman he will hide from her, this Tess, when he went home to her. The dirty, cheap, loose woman who was dumb enough to sleep with him without knowing anything about him.

Over and over and over again.

Fuck, what had become of you? You went through life being so careful when it came to men. And somehow, in your heartbreak, you lost your resolve and slept with this man you hardly knew.

Why were you even surprised, though? Didn’t take an expert to see that you simply had terrible luck with men. Your history with men started with a man who came out as gay after sleeping with you one time. You couldn’t get Nell’s taunts about your coochie being so bad that it turned a virgin man gay. “What are you, defected?” she had howled to the point of gleeful tears. “The man had never had sex with anyone, man or woman, and one time with you, and he decided ‘no more women’? Oh, I would just off myself if I were you.”

As much as you tried to just brush her venomous taunts off, you were very much affected by her words, even if she was only 13 at that point. Your mother laughing along with her as you sobbed, your heart broken, didn’t help. Your self-esteem plummeted, which then led you to limit your sexual escapades with the next three men in your life to the third base, all of whom either broke up with you because of your sister or were stolen right from under you by her. You honestly thought the bad luck streak was broken when you cut them both out of your life and met Andrew, who you had managed to hide from your man-stealing sister and narcissistic mother, having a normal life with him for years, but somehow, you still managed to lose him, despite coming so close to your happily ever after.

So, with a record like yours, what in the world made you think your tryst with his seemingly perfect, shy, hunk of a man would end up well? Of course you would somehow screw it all up. Of course he was taken. Of course he had a ‘baby’ called Tess waiting for him at home.

You came out of the shower after what felt like hours, ordering room service rather than going downstairs and risk seeing him again. You cried in bed waiting for your food to arrive, feeling so stupid that you didn’t see it. He seemed like such a good guy. Soft. Gentle. He wasn’t pushy, he wasn’t leery, cheesy or corny like most guys looking for a quick tryst you’d often encountered, whom you never paid attention to. He fooled you, you actually thought he was a decent man.

Your heart broke for this Tess. There she was, at home, waiting for him, calling him, maybe she was the one he was speaking to that first night you met him, asking how his bro-trip to Bali was going so far. And what did he do? Sleep with someone else. Was he just going to go home and pretend like nothing happened? Just go home and resume his relationship with her, calling her baby and telling her he loved her as if last night didn’t happen? You wondered which souvenir he bought while out with you was for her.

That furniture shop he and Tommy spent time in, was it so he could furnish his house? Did they live together? Were they engaged? How long had they been together? How long since his tongue was in your mouth before he would put that same tongue in her mouth? How long before his dick was in her? When was the last time he fucked her?

Oh God, you just unknowingly shared a dick with another woman.

Fuck. Your body was suddenly covered in goosebumps. You should’ve scrubbed longer. What would happen if you scrubbed with bleach, you wondered? Why was your skin tingling? He used condoms, but what if he had something orally transmittable? He put his tongue on you.

Fuck, you were spiralling.

You heard the sounds of a trolley being wheeled, before a tray was placed on your doorstep, a soft knock and a call for room service being called out since your doorbell was on DND. Your stomach was growling, perhaps from hunger, perhaps from the queasiness you were feeling over the thought that you just let a man who was in a relationship fuck you.  

Of course, just your luck, as you opened to get your food, the elevator dinged, and he walked out, his face lighting up when he saw you. You retreated as quickly as you could into your room and shut the door, the last thing you saw before doing so was his lit up face morphing into confusion as he saw your red eyes and your hurry to get away from him. You heard him outside your door, calling your name softly, asking you if you were alright. You didn’t answer, your heart beating so fast and hard your ears were thrumming.

You were angry. At yourself for being so callous and stupid. At him for being a cheater. You wanted so badly to open the door and give him a piece of your mind, but you were afraid that one look at those soft, beautiful brown eyes of his would turn you to stone.

Or worse, that you might pull him inside for one more weak moment.

Another round of him cheating on Tess.

So, you went into the bedroom and shut the door, just so you couldn’t hear him anymore. Less temptation if you couldn’t hear him anymore. To yell at him, or to kiss him one more time. Either way, the bedroom was a lot safer.

You fell back asleep after you ate your breakfast, waking up only when Maria came in, a card in her hand, telling you it was slipped on the door next to the handle when she came in.

“Last night was amazing. Would love to see you again back home. Please give me a call. Yours, always, Joel Mil…” she read out loud, a sly smile on her face, which you shut down by snatching the card from her hand, tearing it into pieces before flushing them down the toilet.

You could see she wanted to tease you about the whole thing but changed her mind as she clocked your angry but somewhat sad expression. She sat across from you, searching your features for an explanation.

“He has someone waiting for him back home,” you told her. “She called him this morning. He called her ‘baby’, he told her he loved her, went out to the balcony to answer the call,” you shook your head, somehow saying it out loud to Maria made you feel a lot stupider, and you started crying. She held you as you did, rubbing your back, consoling you as best as she could.

When you finally let yourself go from her hug, you clocked a confused look on her face, but even she seemed to let her confusion go after a while. “I wish I could enlighten you, tell you what Tommy told me, but then again, I don’t know Tommy from Adam. He might be lying, for all you know. Not like I was telling him the truth about myself in the first place. You know how it is. He’s a fling.”

You shook your head, not wanting to know. What was there to know? You heard the whole thing yourself. He cheated on this Tess. He was not a good man. You had your first one night stand, an amazing one, you won’t lie, but that didn’t exactly soften the blow. He used you to cheat on someone he loved. He made you the other woman. If you hadn’t heard him that morning, you would still be with him right now. But you did, and the fact that he came up to see you again after receiving a call from her made you feel icky about him. He was going to continue cheating on her with you. He came up for more. Even if he just came up to take you to breakfast, which was what you suspected, he was still looking for more alone time with you.

And you were proud of yourself for standing firm in your resolve.

You and Maria stayed in until his 2pm flight took off, even going so far as making sure the flight took off online before going out to enjoy the rest of your holiday. You couldn’t do anything about this now. It happened. You met a man you thought was a great guy, slept with him, found out about his ‘baby’, and now he was gone. You were never going to see him again. Game over, never playing again. Let’s move on.

Didn’t stop the fact that he was still the best sex you’d ever had. Or the fact that you were considering giving him your phone number before finding out about Tess. That you genuinely liked him. That you wanted to get to know him better. That for a split second, you felt as if the whole thing with Andrew was meant to happen in order for the two of you to meet. That it was kismet.

Who’re you kidding, Aria? You had always been unlucky when it came to men. Just because you had mind-blowing sex with the man you met in Bali, didn’t mean your luck would change. As if lady luck would be that kind, if she even existed.

**********

Joel started his truck, checking his phone for the 20th time since he turned it back on since he landed in Austin, disappointment clear on his face when he saw there was no text from a new number. Just the same old contacts. His Mama, his suppliers, Tess, his dentist, and for some reason, Jen.

He had been disappointed to see you were gone when he came back inside from his call with Tess, very much looking forward to spending some lazy morning time with you. He was sure he fell asleep with a huge smile on his face, his mind full of memories of you and him in Bali, more so of the previous night. He was actually considering just staying in that morning, ordering room service, eating breakfast in bed with you, get to know you better. He gave in the night before, giving you his card, his full name and phone number on it, so he could keep in touch with you when the vacation, which turned out so much better than he had expected it to be, was over.  

He had never done that before. No one night stands in his life. He was a one woman man, and apart from his high school girlfriend, he had one other woman in his life. The woman he thought he was going to spend the rest of his life with, that he was so in love with, until…

Anyway.

He only went on the vacation after much coaxing from Tommy, Tess and his Mama. Tommy was determined to get him to take his mind off of what was going to happen on the eve of that second day of vacation. He was already in a bad mood from the get-go, shameless ladies batting their eyelashes at him since he stepped foot on the plane, a few blatantly telling him their room numbers when they got to the hotel, all a reminder of her, the woman who broke his heart and stomped on the pieces. He went downstairs to drown his sorrows that first evening, when a semi drunk young lady complaining about her bad luck in finding men sat next to him. In his annoyance he firmly told the young girl he was not interested, that he was there to wallow in his own bad luck, not to sleep with the first woman looking for a tryst or revenge. Thankfully, the young lady backed off, muttering a sorry with a pitying look on her face, but that was enough for him to give up and go back to his room, just in time for her posse to arrive at the bar.

He came back downstairs for dinner with Tommy, his stomach rumbling, annoyed that there was a wait for a table, not to mention the exorbitant prices of everything on the menu there. Tommy rambled on and on about the dos and don’ts of one night stands, just in case, he said, as if he was ever interested in partaking in such activities. He wasn’t going to risk getting a disease or getting some unlucky woman pregnant on his vacation, thank you very much. He wanted to spend his days trying to forget the thing that was happening the next day, and just disappear for a few days, determined to relax in his own self-pitying grumpiness.

But then the bartender came and handed him and Tommy the best glass of whiskey he had ever tasted, from two ladies at the end of the bar.

He wanted to be angry, he wanted to scowl at the relentless flirting he had received since he arrived, but then he saw you.

He hid it from Tommy, but his mood lifted. There was something about you. He recognized it. Resignation. Sadness. Hopelessness.

The fact that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen was just a bonus.

Not that that was a weird thing, but you were an understated beauty, the most beautiful kind, to his mind. You stood out because you didn’t take the ‘I’m on vacation so I’m gonna look great’ route. A simple dress for the restaurant, no jewellery, no over the top make-up that he could see. There was also a hesitance in your presence that he recognized. You didn’t want to be there. Just like him.

Then again, this was his M.O. He was easily attracted. Very quickly attached. And then he hung on for dear life. It was his weakness. He did that with his high school girlfriend, it took him two years to get over her, and then there was Jen. All this time later, he was still hung up on her. He couldn't afford to fall again with someone he met on a spur-of-the-moment holiday. Snap out of it, you idiot. Haven’t you learnt your lesson?

And then Tommy invited the two of you to join them for dinner.

As angry and annoyed as he was with Tommy then, he was glad. What followed was the best vacation he had ever had in his life, with you by his side. He tried, he really tried to stop himself from moving too fast. To follow Tommy’s unsolicited advice on flings. But he couldn’t help it. He was a relationship man. He didn’t want to just sleep with you. He wanted to get to know you. What he saw, albeit without much personal detail apart from your name, he liked. He liked what he saw very, very much. He dreamt about it. And that last night… damn… he felt as if all the bullshit he had to endure those past few years was just leading to that, to you.

Fuck Tommy’s dos and don’ts. He was going to keep in touch with you, see where this could go.

But you disappeared, and when he went up to get you for breakfast, eager to spend those last few hours in Bali with you, get your contact info, already willing to fly to wherever you were to see you again, you shut the door in his face.

He spent the hours since then trying to make sense of it all. Maybe that’s just what people do after a holiday tryst? As much as it hurt his heart to think that that was all he was to you – a tryst, a fling – he had to accept the reality of it all. It was what it was, he was a stranger you met on holiday, and now, the holiday was over. Move on. Next.

But he couldn’t do that. He was besotted with you. Addicted to your presence. He felt lighter than he had ever felt since Jen with you. He wanted more. And seeing that you didn’t text him, that lightness flitted away, an anvil dropping on his heart.

“Fuck, brother, you have it bad for her, huh?” Tommy snapped him out of his reverie, slamming the door closed. “She didn’t text?”

Joel scowled, placing his phone on the holder, putting his truck into gear and began driving, while Tommy rambled on about how they could find you. He ignored his younger brother, navigating his way through the city, his heart heavier than it ever was, honestly feeling like he could cry.

All that disappeared for a while when he drove up his driveway. The door opened, and the light of his life ran out. He jumped out and scooped the little girl into his arms, giving her so many kisses she squealed.

“Daddy, no! Scratchy!” she pushed his face away, her tiny fingers grabbing his scruff, before going back in for more hugs and kisses, making him laugh with raspberries into his throat.

“I’ve missed you, baby,” he said, hugging her tight, almost to the point of restricting her airways. “Did you behave for Auntie Tess?”

“Auntie Tasche gave me ice cream for breakfast!” she reported, a cheeky grin filled with a huge gap in her front teeth making him laugh, all the while rolling his eyes at the woman who had just appeared in front of him.

“I missed a wax one time three years ago, and I’m Auntie Tasche forever!” she complained, “And the ice cream was supposed to be our little secret!” she warned, giving the little girl tickles. She hugged him, taking the squirming little girl from him, asking him how his trip was.

“Oh, it was memorable,” Tommy answered, taking the excited little girl from her, giving her hugs and kisses too, giving Tess a meaningful look.

Her face morphed into curious, teasing excitement, following Joel to the back seat of his truck to get the luggage, “Oh… was it now? Do tell…”

His phone rang, and he answered, a little too quickly, before his face fell a little as he heard his Mama’s voice through the speaker. Tommy mouthed ‘he’s waiting for her call’ at Tess. She gasped in excitement, looking at Joel for confirmation. He told his Mama he was going to call her back, he’s just gotten home, needed to unpack, he said, before passing the phone to Tess.

“Hey Aunt Anita, what’s up?” Tess said, turning around towards the house with one of his bags in her hand, leaving him behind to hide his disappointment that you hadn’t called or texted.

Well, you were still on vacation. You’ll call. After Sunday. You’ll call.

Please call.

**********

You unlocked your front door, tired out from your flight, bracing yourself should your ex-fiancé was home.

No, he wasn’t.

What awaited you was worse.

Boxes and suitcases. Neatly packed, all ten or so in total, lining up the entryway, a Post-It note stuck to the first box.

‘I’ve packed your shit up for you. Feel free to check the house for anything I might have missed. I will be back on Monday after work. I expect you and your shit gone by the time I get back. Thanks for letting me waste my best years on you.’

Seven boxes and 3 suitcases, four counting the one you took to Bali, a computer bag, and a backpack. That was all your life with him accumulated to. Everything else was his. You tried to keep your tears at bay as you went around the house, opening every drawer and cupboard to see if there was anything he missed, telling an angry Maria what was happening as you went along.  

You hung up, telling her you needed to make arrangements for the night. You couldn’t stay in the house any longer. You called a few people first, people you thought were your friends, those who came to console you when he was a no show at your wedding, but none picked up. You ended up calling a lady you used to work with, who you knew had an Airbnb listed, you designed the kitchen and bathrooms for her. You called Uber, needing four cars to bring all your stuff over, each driver hugging you as they dropped you off. It wasn’t hard to infer what went on there.

You spent the next few days not knowing what to do. Technically, you could just stay at the Airbnb until you find a place of your own. But did you really want to stay in the same town as the man who broke your heart? Where all your friends were, only to discover they were his friends in the first place? You couldn’t even go grocery shopping without running into one of them, so you ordered in, thinking it was safe. A friend of his who was delivering on the side thought it wise to toss your groceries at you when he realized it was you. It finally made you feel that staying was no longer an option.

You could go back to your hometown. Your Dads of course, offered their guest room to you. But you didn’t want to intrude. They had just retired, why bother them? Your Dad and Frank moved away from their old house as soon as you left town. You were no longer there, so they didn’t have a reason to stay. Their move may or may not have to do with your mother and sister harassing them for money or threatening them with something or other, so they upped and moved into a secured condo in the city. Like you, they had not had contact with your mother or Nell since then. So, maybe moving back home was okay if you stayed in the city?

But one phone call chased that thought out.

You woke up at to a ping on your phone. Your Dad asking you to call him when you had the time. He picked up before the first ring ended.

“Dad, everything okay?”

“What are you doing up? Isn’t it like, 6 o’clock there now?”

“6.30. What’s going on, Dad?”

“Just wanted to hear your voice,” he tried to coax you.

“Dad… what’s wrong?”

“Really, I just wanted to check in with you. Why are you awake? You still jet-lagged?”

“Dad… I know you. You don’t ask for a phone call unless something happened. What’s going on?”

He took a deep breath. “Had business in our old neighbourhood today. Been a while.”

Ah… suddenly you knew where this was going.

“Apparently, Eric disappeared. They had no idea where he went. Just upped and left – four years now. Just after Frank and I moved. Your mother heard I was at the old office and came over with your sister, shouting at me, threatening to sue me and the likes. The usual.”

“What? For what?”

“They were convinced Frank and I kidnapped him and brought him with us.”

You unconsciously banged your head on the wall.

“When I said we haven’t heard from him, they accused you of kidnapping him, and that Frank and I were covering for you. They’re convinced you and Eric ran away together or something.”

He took a deep breath one more time, “They… uh, they know you were engaged. Someone told them. They know the wedding was cancelled.”

You couldn’t speak. Suddenly all sorts of theories on why Andrew left filled your mind. You felt as if goosebumps were sprouting all over your body, your hairs stood on ends.

But… who? Who told them?

“There’s something else. Nell and Eric… they… uhm, they had a child. A girl.”

Your heart clenched. It’s been years. You had accepted that your sister and your ex were married. But this, the news that they had a child, that their marriage was - despite everything that you saw, with him turning to drugs and alcohol, sleeping in separate rooms, the likes – very much a real marriage, made you feel even more defeated than you already were.

A marriage that produced a child.

“Eric ran off when he found out about the baby. He’d never been there for the child. That’s why they came looking when they heard I was in town. Demanded I pay them what Eric would’ve owed in child support.”

“Did you see her? The child?”

“No.”

You were quiet. So quiet you were convinced your Dad could hear your heart beat.

“You okay, honey? I’m sorry to tell you this, I just thought I should warn you – in case they somehow managed to contact you. I don’t want you surprised if they did.”

“No, don’t be sorry, Dad, thanks for thinking of me like that. I’ll call you later, okay? I think I need some time to think.”

“Sure honey, love you baby, and Aria? The offer for the guest room will remain open, okay? Anything you need.”

“I’ll think about it, okay? Thanks, Dad. Love you.”

Wow.

You were suddenly filled with guilt. You just left him. Eric, the man who was so kind, so good, who had so much going for him, who got trapped by your sister, who withdrew so much from the world, was somewhere alone. Given his condition when you saw him last five years ago, you couldn’t help but worry. He was your friend, and you gave up on him.

Oh, Eric. Where are you? Where did you go? Are you safe? Are you alive?

Your thoughts on Eric was disrupted by your ringing phone. Kyle.

“Hey babe, am I calling too early?”

“What do you want, Kyle?”

“Ooh… grouchy… anyway, hear me out, okay? Maria knows, and she’s very excited about this. So listen before you shout at me okay?” He waited for a response, receiving a sleepy grunt in response.

“So, one of Ethan’s designers sent in her months’ notice this morning. He needs a new designer. And who better to fill in that position than you? And… I just got a listing for this sweet little house – fully renovated, like a ten minutes’ drive from my place. What do you say? Fresh start? You know we’d love for you to be here, nearer to us, and Maria is already making plans to fill our weekends for the next year, so if you move here, you’ll have us, your Dads will just be a six hours drive away, and a not a six hours flight, a new job, a new house, a new start, sounds good, huh?”

You didn’t say anything, but even in your busy mind you were tempted. Usually, things like this required months of thinking. But right now, everything he just said was basically the answers to all your troubles. A job, check. A home, check. Friends, check. Family, check.

Fuck it. Why the fuck not?

By the end of the day, you had taken a Facetime tour of the house with your agent, Kyle, who was vibrating with excitement, even going so far as forgoing his commission since it meant you were moving closer to him, put in an offer, secured an Airbnb for you to stay at in the meantime, arranged for your stuff to be sent over, and here you were, sitting in front of your laptop with a glass of wine, celebrating your sudden impulsiveness, looking at flight tickets.

‘Ooh… I have a good feeling about this,’ your heart said.

‘I don’t know… I feel like something big is gonna happen,’ your mind countered.

‘Oh, come on, not like we have a choice,’ your heart defended. ‘New start. If not there, then somewhere else. Might as well be where we have friends, right?’

“Here goes nothing,” you muttered to yourself, as you clicked ‘book’ for a one-way, first class ticket to Austin, Texas.

---

Part 5

[morangoowada]

Part 1 of Brazil Danganronpa

[muffinlance]

Do you get the impression the live action is treating us like utter morons?? Like I thought that making it aimed at an older audience would open the doors for more subtle story telling, but no, they're just using monologues to tell us eveything! Like in the second episode Katara's like 'oh his power isn't that he's the avatar, it's that he ~connects~ to people'. Girl we're not idiots we can see that!! And the first episode with Aang's goddawful 'I don't want this responsibility' monologue

THIS, YES. The word that keeps coming to mind is definitely "subtlety". The show for literal children? Had it. The remake for adults? Not so much.

[kit-screams-into-the-future]

another post for @bttfjanaury! this one's @itsthemorph's mermarty au and very predictably i got carried away with it LMAO.

yap session and bonus stuff below the cut:

once again i came up with an entire backstory for this au, and if i were a fanfiction writer i would genuinely consider writing it since it's a lot less visually comedic than the weredoc au (and comedic in general, it's played a little straighter than "man turns into dog and is thoroughly inconvenienced by it") (unfortunate [in reference to visuals] bc i enjoy drawing mermarty a great deal more than weredoc GBJKGJ) bc i really like the premise but i'm pretty bad at fleshing out a narrative in enough detail to last the whole story so bullet points it is:

doc has decided to take a break from his time-travel-related research and go on vacation! the fresh coastal air might jostle a couple ideas into place, and while he is a nuclear physicist and not a marine biologist he wouldn't mind checking out some of the local aquatic life

and by local aquatic life he meant like normal fish and stuff. a nice mollusk or two even. so when he ends up fishing an entire boy out of the water instead he's understandably very shocked

before doc can move past the "where did he come from??" thought to register his more fish-like qualities, the boy makes a run (a swim?) for it. fortunately or unfortunately for doc, he ends up being able to register the fish-like qualities after all since he gets dragged into the water along with him. the moment doesn't last too long, though, and the fish-boy is gone as soon as doc realizes the guy has a fish tail instead of legs

doc gets back on the dock (haha), thinks about the whole ordeal for a bit, and decides that the best course of action is just to assume he hallucinated the whole thing in a fit of heatstroke or something like that. he's here to relax and get his thoughts in order so he can continue working on his time machine! there's no time to investigate fairy-tale creatures or whatever supposedly living off the coast of california!

it's not shown in the comic but i imagine doc has a little portable radio next to him as he was fishing, so some time passes before he catches a glimpse of something shining in the water underneath the dock

he looks through the cracks in the dock and lo and behold, it's the same boy from earlier! doc greets him, and the boy immediately disappears under the water. doc thinks he's scared him off until a few minutes later where he pokes his head out and says hi back

they get to chatting and doc learns a couple things:

1. his name is marty!

2. he was trying to get doc to realize that he forgot to put bait on his hook but got his hand caught on it, and was trying to get his hand unstuck from the hook without ripping it open before doc ever had the chance to see him, which he obviously failed at

3. both the being seen and ripping his hand open, because in his haste to get away after being seen by doc he ended up doing that anyways. so there's like a lot of blood coming out of his hand now? but like don't worry about it. it'll be fine. he thinks.

4. he really likes whatever it is that's playing on the radio

doc insists on patching up his hand and initially marty refuses but lets him do it eventually, and marty tells doc that for a land dweller he's actually surprisingly nice. doc says nah anyone would want to help out someone hurt, especially if they're the one's who caused it. and marty's kind of confused by that because his family's always warned him of how dangerous humans are, which he kind of never thought too hard about until now where his time off this particular coast has really proven them correct, because he's encountered a bunch of humans over the past couple weeks and they've all tried to kill him or catch him. doc's the only one who's actually bothered to say hi!

after learning that particular not-at-all-concerning tidbit, doc asks him to elaborate because there's a lot to unpack over there, but someone else walks onto the dock before marty can get a word in and he takes off

marty does not return, even once the other guy leaves, and when doc packs it up to return to the place he rented out for the vacation he overhears a conversation among a group of men about spotting something weird in the water earlier and that it kind of looked like a mermaid? and that if any of them manage to catch it they'll all be rich as thieves. and another guy in the convo goes no you're thinking of rich as kings, you're mixing it up with a different analogy. and the first guy goes no i'm not i said what i said

so now this vacation is doing anything but clearing doc's mind. he's really worried about that little fish guy

there's a couple more ideas i had but halfway through writing out this bullet list i've realized that if i were to actually write this as a fanfiction, i'd probably want to keep those a surprise. so what i just wrote out is kind of the equivalent of one chapter

edit after thinking about it a bit more: since most humans have been trying to kill him, marty really has no incentive to let a guy know that he's wasting his time fishing with a baitless hook. so a. he's still pretty optimistic that most humans aren't out to get him, even if his experience off this particular coast says otherwise, so he was trying to be nice anyway or b. (which i think is a lot funnier) he has started to pull on people's lines as a way to fuck with them. i think if i wrote this i'd change it to this one

i based mermarty off of a guppy fish! specifically this kind of guppy fish:

i was searching up kinds of fish and he just had the vibe of this thing. although now i think i should've made him a flying fish instead. for the pun

alternate ending to the mini comic:

the other one makes a little more sense since just approaching a guy whose species doesn't know about your existence unprompted is pretty stupid even for marty (and also i thought it was funny that the hook didn't have anything but doc ends up catching something anyways) but i still think this one's funny too

[robinson-graves]

[sits up suddenly from my coffin] anybody fuck with my super danganronpa 2 x guy who didnt like musicals au

[mizuribbons]

from my time being in many different fandoms and encountering countless more i have seen a surprising amount of "flower shop with an extremely mentally ill florist who falls in love with a customer" aus. i mean, i see why. it's amazing, and i love this concept, it's just perfect. but also it's pretty fucking specific and there's way more of these than expected.

[theokusgallery]

I hate that I have reoccurring themes in everything I make. YES this guy has a complex over the fact that everyone prefers his sibling AGAIN. YES he was ostracized by his peers since he was in primary school and never knew why until years later. URGH

[egginfroggin]

I feel the need to simply talk about the Dying of the Light AU with regards to Emmet's powers and why I wrote The Sun in Flight with such an emphasis on heat.

Of course Reshiram is a fire-type Legendary and as such is extremely powerful, and this extends somewhat to Emmet, as well. I wanted to emphasize the sheer intensity of Reshiram's fires, and did so by having Emmet describe it as "unbearable" and "incinerating," because Emmet himself can melt glass and sand.

And this is where we get to the main inspiration that set off all this hot-themed prose: a few tags on the reblog that inspired this au talked about Emmet possibly having a castle of glass, to mirror Ingo's castle of ice in Iced Tracks. Here's the thing.

Glass is made from melted sand -- or more accurately, silica, which is abundant in sand.

Sand melts at about 3,090 degrees Fahrenheit, or 1,700 degrees Celsius.

For comparison, lava is about 2,200 Fahrenheit.

LAVA.

[korolation]

Over the centuries, there have been several efforts to break The Barrier and rekindle relations with monsterkind. However, all reconnaissance missions have ended in failure, with every group having never returned from the mountain, regardless of their strength or size. Eventually, these efforts were given up, with most believing monsters to be long dead and that the expeditions were ultimately pointless.

The unknown fate of the various reconnaissance groups has led to many conspiracies and urban legends, with some saying that monsters still do reside in the mountain and had killed them all off, while others cite some other mysterious phenomenon as the cause. But there is one thing they all agree on:

Those who climb the mountain never return.

[fisheito]

edmond olivine......... farm sounds edition tiny tsun obsessed with girlfriend 4x his (cup_ ) Size....

[sevretalien2]

inspired by @/starbanmk ‘s recent biker au post i picked up my pen and did a crunchy little doodle (rambles in the tags) not that the golden gorilla thing has anything to do with their au but that’s not the point